


The Way We Were

by Background_Foxe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesia, Anal Sex, Crack Treated Seriously, Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Angst, Mutual Pining, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Undercover as Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29536275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Background_Foxe/pseuds/Background_Foxe
Summary: Dean and Castiel pose as a couple to gain access to a gated community known as 'The Glen', a pleasant if secretive location that the boys believe might be linked to several dead bodies showing up over the years bearing signs of ritualistic sacrifice.All seems well until Dean's memory is affected from an incident during a solo exploration, leaving Dean convinced that their cover story is true. Castiel is left trying to resolve their case without taking advantage of an increasingly enthusiastic DeanAuthor's Note: Amnesia related consent questions. Have bumped up rating to Explicit as more frisky than anticipated
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 19
Kudos: 208
Collections: The AO3 SPN Kink Meme





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [theao3spnkinkmeme](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/theao3spnkinkmeme) collection. 



> SPN Kink mods, please remove the anonymity :)

*

“So get this,”

They were sitting in the car on the border of the town. Well, town was a little extreme. There was a shop, a couple of houses, some farm land, and The Glen. Not even a bar, and that really, _really_ hurt as far as Dean was concerned. Still, they had a job to do, and he’d have to find a bottle of whiskey somewhere else. How hard could that be?

“The Glen is an open community set up about twenty years ago by a couple of farmers and a ‘health enthusiast’, a guy called Herb Beiner. It’s grown since that time, and now they’ve got around twenty five to thirty different family groups staying there, each with a home on little to no rent as long as they stuck to the primary rules; cohesion, helping with the farm land every so often, and no alcohol.”

Dean closed his eyes wearily. No alcohol. It was always no alcohol.

“You missed the bit about no sex,” he said gloomily.

“Actually, I didn’t. Sex is fine. They’re very pro-sex.” Sam shrugged. Dean perked up a little and said a brief prayer for that.

“I doubt whether heaven had anything to do with the sex rule,” Castiel spoke up from the back. Dean sighed.

“Not _literally_ , Cas, and stop eavesdropping on my prayers.”

“Guys, c’mon, concentrate.” Sam thrust a pamphlet toward Castiel, and aimed another at Dean who looked at it with the suspicion normally afforded to unexploded bombs. “Reason we’re here isn’t the rules, it’s the fact that they keep having dead people turn up every year. Oh, and there’s been a few complaints that it’s a brainwashing cult and they forget their families, but that’s kinda normal for these types of places.”

“We went through this in the motel, remember?” Dean sighed, tossing the pamphlet back at him.

“And we’re doing it again. Undercover, Dean. You remember the story, right?” Sam looked at him with the expression of one fully expecting the answer to be ‘mostly’. And that was a fair assessment, but Dean wasn’t planning on giving him the satisfaction for that. 

And anyway, how could he _not_ remember it? The situation was pretty damned typical, unusual deaths, weird folk, rumour and suspicions. The solution? Not so typical. Sure, it was a cover story, and sure, they’d poke around and find out stuff and then set things on fire that needed to be on fire, but most of their cover stories did not involve pretending to be married, and they certainly didn’t involve him pretending to be married with Cas.

Hell, Dean still didn’t quite know what to make of that. Happy? Terrified? Bewildered? All three at the same time? That was a possibility.

“Yeah, I remember. There’s a vacant house in The Glen who our contact-,” Couldn’t remember contact’s name, but he doubted that mattered as long as Sam had it. “-arranged for us to get. Cas and I will pose as a newly married couple because they really, _really_ like couples for some unknown and probably creepy reason. We’ll make some enquiries, have a look around, and see what happens while you…. Okay, what were you planning to do? Watch Scooby Doo re-runs?”

“You want to pretend to be a married couple with me?” Sam said pointedly.

“I’d prefer to chew off my own balls.”

“Exactly. So you two go in there and hold hands, and I’ll be in the motel going through more of the research and those little symbols that showed up carved in one of the people, and I’ll pop in and out as the friendly brother helping you move in.”

Holding hands, huh? Dean fought down a flush to his cheeks and glanced out the window as casually as he could manage without alerting Sam.

“All big happy families.”

“That’s right.” Thankfully Sam was distracted from squinting at the screen. “Looks like they have communal food as well, in the Great Hall,”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Let me guess. It’s a hall and it’s pretty big?”

“Or they’re very proud of it. Dean, stop nit-picking.”

“There’s nits?” Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Should we not exterminate them first?”

“No, it’s… oh, it’s fine, Cas, we’re both nit free, honest.” Sam sighed and looked back at his screen. “So they’ll probably take you there and introduce you to everyone. Probably the time to ask some questions and look .. well, you know.”

“I don’t know. How are we looking?” Castiel looked between them. Dean released his breath and let out a soft, shaky chuckle without looking back at him. Awkward questions. Awesome. This promised to be like giving the sex talk to small children on a constant basis, let alone an awkward sex talk to someone who was.. Well. Dean wasn’t entirely sure what Castiel was, but Dean’s body definitely had some suggestions. Holding hands, living together, 50s domestic sit-com..

Sometimes he wasn’t sure whether this was just one giant prank from his little brother, but Sam had more sense. Probably. 

“You know that whole gay thing we were discussing last night?” Dean said. “That.”

Castiel digested that. “The conversation was gay? It sounded generally romantic.”

“It is, Dean’s just being an asshole.” Sam shot his brother a small look, and tapped his finger on the side of the laptop impatiently. “It’s okay, Cas. You guys just have to act like a couple. You’ve just got married, you’ve been together for about a year, and you both have limited family .. Dean’s got me, and Cas, your family don’t like the situation so you’re non-contact. That’s kinda what this place likes. Romantic couples with minimal family problems outside the walls.”

“People who can vanish.” Dean translated. “Cheerful stuff.”

Castiel was still clearly considering things in the backseat, and Dean didn’t really want to think about that. Hearing the scheme had been hard enough as it was, trying to explain how to act romantically to an increasingly bewildered angel was even worse, and now, as they were about to head over the gates, he was feeling a little queasy in his stomach. This would not be a good idea, it was _never_ a good idea, but approaching the place as legal enforcers or other public bodies hadn’t found anything and the whole key seemed to be people rather than supernatural hauntings.

And then there was Cas.

Dean gave him a brief glance in the mirror. Castiel’s brow was furrowed in thought, his bright blue eyes trained on the pamphlet as though it might contain the word of god, or at least a description of how to act as a newly married couple. Hell, even Dean wasn’t sure how you acted. Got drunk a lot and then go bang in the marital bed, surely? Probably not what Sam wanted.

Wasn’t sure whether it was something he wanted, but since there was no alcohol that definitely would not be a problem. He could still feel the awkwardness rise up in him now, and that was just over the prospect of sharing a pot of coffee. Sex was a lot easier when you didn’t care for the other person, could get drunk and were guaranteed not to see them afterward - ideally not through death of the other person, but if they had that as a rule Sam would never get laid.

“Cas, it’s fine.” Dean kept his voice casual. “You hold my hand a bit, you smile at me, I smile back, we call each other some cute names and laugh, and then make a wink wink suggestion every so often.”

“ _Or_ you could just act normally,” Sam sighed. “Little acts of affection, sure, but you don’t need to perform as though you’re in the middle of Desperate Housewives.”

“I do not understand. Why are the housewives desperate?” Castiel squinted at the pamphlet as though it might explore this particular theme in more depth. Sam chuckled ruefully and waved a hand toward the road.

“C’mon. Let’s get in and get you unpacked. Remember, you only have a couple of suitcases at the moment, the other stuff will come in a few weeks time. I’m here to check whether the furniture will fit. Clear?”

“As a shot glass after drinking the whole damned bottle.”

“Good enough.” Sam shut the laptop and gave his brother a winning smile. “And remember, we’re pretty sure that there’s several people in on whatever it is, and rumour stated that they have ears _everywhere_. The house is probably bugged, everyone will be watching, probably cameras and microphones in multiple places as well. Once we’re in, no talking about plans or anything outside of the cover story, clear? _At all_. These guys have managed to avoid detection by really dedicated people in the past. Any sniff we’re not genuine and it’s over.”

“Is it really going to be that extreme?” Dean complained.

“Yes. Yes, it is. They’re providing you with an entire house, Dean. If you were some evil plotter, would you miss that opportunity?” Sam raised an eyebrow.

“If I was an evil plotter in an evil cult community, I’d probably have cameras and microphones to record what the romantic couples get up … to.” Dean trailed off and winced. “They’re gonna have cameras and microphones in the bedroom, aren’t they?”

“Probably. You’ll be lucky if they’re not in the bathroom as well.”

“Yay.” Dean drummed his fingers on the top of the steering wheel. “And why can’t we just leave the community if we want to talk again?”

Sam fixed him an impatient look that suggested this had already been covered multiple times. It probably had, but Sam talked so much that occasionally Dean just tuned him out for his own sanity.

“Because,” Sam said.

“Because it is a very insular operation,” came Castiel from the backseat, still using the voice he always did whenever his mind was on something else. “They have brought everything to you, whether that be community food, walks within nature, schooling, minimal costs to avoid working outside and other community tasks that allow people to flourish without needing to step outside.”

“See? Someone was listening,” Sam commented pointedly.

“Not quite, it’s on page three of this brochure using different language and several shiny people with very bright teeth.” Castiel frowned at the images. Sam waved that fact off almost immediately.

“Anyway, you get the point. The whole thing is supposed to _keep_ people in the community. Us popping back and forth all the time is going to raise eyebrows, and we want-,”

“We want all eyebrows to remain low.” Castiel nodded in understanding.

“Exactly. No ruffling feathers, no ‘just saying’ comments, no suggestions of strip joints or anything else. As far as anyone knows, you’re both a nice, normal, homosexual couple. Okay?”

“I’m not sure I feel like a nice, normal, homosexual couple.” Castiel advised.

“It’ll come to you.” Sam rubbed his temple with a finger. “And the only reason I can get in is via a guest pass thing, and seriously, that took a _lot_ of effort to get hold of. They only allowed it because I was able to suggest I could carry out maintenance tasks, which would mean no need for random tradesmen turning up. _Okay?_ ”

“Okay, okay, jesus Sam, untwist the panties.” Dean eyed him again before grumbling softly and then bringing the engine to life. 

At least there had been no argument over who was going under cover. Sam had acted as though the obvious choice was him and Cas, and all Dean had to do was shrug, argue a small amount and then agree. Pretty damned easy. Bit too easy if he was feeling paranoid, but if Sam had any real thoughts about him and Cas then he’d kept them to himself for years as it was. Probably fine.

Probably fine was still the review after they had arrived and carried in the two suitcases they’d brought with them. Dean glanced around himself with grudging approval. The home was small but clean and modern, with a small yard out the back and a patch of clearly carefully tended flowerbeds out front. It was all ground floor, a large bedroom to the rear with a bed large enough for the average yeti, a modern bathroom, and a merged open plan kitchen-living room thing with leather sofas and a tv that desperately needed some sort of sports match on it.

“I thought we were bringing our own furniture?” Dean ran his fingertips over the couch.

“You’re bringing some personal effects. The community kinda provide the major stuff,” Sam looked around himself critically. “Apparently they like white and cream.”

“I’m familiar with this aesthetic,” Castiel commented. Dean huffed a laugh. Yeah, that was probably right. Heaven definitely had a multi-stock supply of white paint on hand.

“Right. We’re in, we’re here, we’ve got about an hour to go before .. what, dinner? And then we’ll go out exploring.” Dean rubbed his hands together. “It’s bound to all kick off after dark.”

As it turned out, dinner was pretty kickable as well. Sam had already retreated to his hotel with his laptop and a book, and the Great Hall beckoned. And it was definitely both Great and a Hall, a wooden thing that looked as though it had been converted from a working farm barn. A huge wooden table laden with various pots and plates a la Hogwarts sat in the centre and there were smaller tables scattered around with benches. Light fittings hung from the ridiculously high ceiling, and already there were several couples milling around, talking, laughing, looking both at ease with the situation and extremely confident.

Dean really wasn’t feeling at ease or extremely confident right at this point. Sure, the investigation itself was pretty much bread and butter, and there were already several people who were clearly curious about them and already happy to talk about whatever it was they led with. That bit, the lies and the drama and the roleplay and the .. well, more lies, that was all fine.

Investigations, however, didn’t normally have Castiel at his side, his hair slightly floppy and a sweet little bewildered expression on his face as the angel surveyed the room.

“Sam said we should mingle,” Castiel murmured in his ear, close enough for Dean to shiver from the breath on his skin. Damn, that was going to take some getting used to. He almost jumped out of his skin as Castiel gently brushed his hand against Dean’s, and fought to recover a little more. Goddamn, how hard could this be?!

“Yeah.” Dean’s voice was gruff. “Mingling.”

“Sam didn’t quite explain what mingling meant,” the angel added, apologetically. “Research suggests it’s idle talk about irrelevant things to make someone feel at ease?”

“Close enough. And you move around small groups rather than just stay with one.” Dean shrugged. “Usually the type of conversation that occurs between drinks. You know, weather, neighbours, the local cat has taken a shit in the garden-,”

“I have not checked whether the cat has taken a shit in the garden, Dean,” Castiel sounded almost concerned. 

“I don’t think the cat poo is going to make much difference, Cas.” Dean grinned, and gently gave the angel’s hand a squeeze, partly for reassurance and partly because there were several couples already watching them intently. And, sure, partly because he had an excuse to be able to, but who was counting?

The hand squeeze certainly wasn’t bothering the angel by the way he was looking around curiously again. And Castiel looked damned good. Dean had finally forced him into jeans and a t-shirt, the trenchcoat sitting forlornly on the back of a chair in their - in _the_ house - with a promise it would make a reappearance the next day. It suited him well, the jeans clinging to his hips and the t-shirt white, crisp and with the slightest suggestion of nipples.

Dean groaned internally. This job was probably going to kill him, and definitely not in a way he’d ever anticipated.

Mingling itself was relatively easy; having assumed they’d be surrounded by people with various levels of ‘weird’, he was pleased to note that most of them seemed .. well, kinda normal. Relaxed clothes, modern day chat, laughing, the occasional reference to a late night poker game that he was definitely all for, and someone had brought one hell of a lot of doughnuts along which were sitting on a big plate looking lonesome.

Yeah, everything would have been peachy had it not been for the fact the Community as a whole were clearly interested in them. A little _too_ interested in them, as though they’d been watching the same videos for years and suddenly discovered Netflix. Dean kept his relaxed smile firmly fixed and an eye even fixed-er - if that was a word, which probably wasn’t - on Castiel.

“So Mr Scott, how do you keep yourself so trim?” 

Dean was brought back to the conversation and looked at the woman, had to remember they were Scott for surnames, then looked down at one of his arms that she’d gestured to.

“ Don’t worry, Dean’s fine. And yeah, I go to the gym… do some running,” he winced internally. Running. There was only one point to running and that was getting away or chasing something. For fun? Madness. 

“Well, it’s very impressive.” 

“Thanks,” the grin was easy going, and Dean grabbed hold of Castiel’s hand and gave it a squeeze that dragged the angel’s attention off whatever the hell he was studying - looked like some bald guys at the top - and back onto him. “We wanted to get into shape for our wedding, right, dear?”

“What?” Castiel looked at him briefly, then at the woman. “Oh. Yes, that’s right. It’s better for endurance.”

Dean forced the fixed smile to continue. Oh, good. Wedding nights and endurance. The woman’s eyes widened for a moment before a warm smile showed.

“Oh, yes. Very good.” she looked between them and gave Dean another sly smile. “Well, I’d better leave you to it.”

“Cas, a little more romantic appearance and a little less endurance based wedding sex, okay?” Dean muttered under his breath.

“You’re objecting to endurance based sex?” Castiel looked at him in surprise.

“Yes. No. I mean… you know what I mean.”

“I don’t know what you mean, that’s why I asked.” the angel protested softly, then lifted his head and studied the head of the table again. Dean tensed as he felt Castiel move closer to him until the angel was gently pressing against his back, his mouth close enough to Dean’s ear that he could feel his breath again. Dean fought down the shiver that was working traitorously down his spine and tried to focus. This was ridiculously hard.

“I believe those are the leaders of this community.” Castiel murmured. “They have been observing everyone carefully.”

“Mm.” Dean said, which seemed a good thing to comment but still couldn’t find his concentration. “Cas, any closer and you’re gonna be up my ass. Give me a couple of centimeters?”

There was a brief pause. “Backward?”

“Backward,” Dean clarified.

“Sorry.” Castiel took a tiny step backwards and Dean discovered how to breath again. He cast a look at the pair again, and agreed privately that both of them were seemingly interested in them with an intensity that normally didn’t bode well. Great. This was definitely under the microscope, although at least their stalkers brought dinner with them. 

“Yeah, I see what you mean. Both definitely on the creepy level.” 

“Would you like me to hold your hand?” Castiel queried solemnly. Dean blinked, and then glanced at him for a moment only to meet a very sincere expression coming the other way. Dean couldn’t resist the grin. It was kinda adorable.

“It’s okay, Cas. I’m a big boy, I can take the creepy.”

“I had not realised that height was essential.”

“Haven’t you heard? Size is everything.” Dean winked and turned a little more to face him, scanning the other people over Castiel’s shoulder idly. Most were still in their own conversations, and he was pretty sure he’d spoken to nearly all of them with positive results and normally some sort of compliment toward his current ‘husband’. 

And people were starting to leave as well. Definitely their cue to go before they started getting asked some complicated questions.

“The leaders appear to be considering coming over here,” Castiel murmured, who had eyes in that direction.

“Sounds a good time for a sharp exit. Look like I’m talking to you.”

“You _are_ talking to me, Dean.”

“About something important, Cas. And then let’s head out the door looking like we’re off to do something vital, yeah?” Dean whispered. He was aware of blue eyes studying him for a moment before Castiel gave a little decisive nod, took hold of Dean’s hand like a mother scooping up a small child and gently but firmly tugged him toward the door.

“Was that okay?” the angel queried outside the door.

“That looked like you were desperate to get laid, so… well, yeah,” Dean grinned as they continued to wander back to the house. He paused as they passed a path heading into the main wooded area, a little patch of greenery that the houses had been built around and which looked a little like a park that had received the Grim Fairy Tale treatment.

People were making their way through the paths, and he could see the glint of car lights on the main track leading to the entrance.

“Kinda looks busy for somewhere that doesn’t really have much to do.” he commented. “Couldn’t get much out of people when it came to their work, got a few freelancers but mostly staying in the community, working around here in exchange for board and food and stuff like that.”

Dean looked at the displaced forest again wistfully. The paths were neatly maintained and they even had some lamp posts that looked like something out of Narnia. Not that he watched those films, of course. At all.

Castiel politely waited for him to turn his head.

“Would you like to investigate?”

“Yes. Yes, I would.” 

“Good. Sam had a suggestion on how you could do that,” the angel nodded solemnly. Dean watched him warily, then shrugged inwardly. After all, how bad it could be?

*

Jogging.

Sam was going to die.

He felt like an idiot. He certainly looked like an idiot; Dean had avoided the tight clothing that basically turned him into a human sausage, but he’d still had to wear some short shorts that clung to his form more enthusiastically than the average leech. The only hint to him was the AC-DC vest shirt, and that was probably traitorous to the shirt. And now he was running around the paths through the woods that criss-crossed the gated community without anything even chasing him. Insanity.

Still, at least people weren’t giving him funny looks. The occasional person gave him a friendly wave - still slightly creepy - but most of them ignored him enough that he was a background character in whatever personal drama they were involved in. And that was good enough for him. The only thing this would achieve was to explore all the random paths for no good reason, and then Dean could make his way back to the house and a non-alcoholic drink and find out what Cas had been up to. He really, _really_ hoped it was pie.

Turning a corner, Dean stopped to take a breath. Woodland. Who the hell built houses around woodland, anyway? Trees and trees and the occasional squirrel or werewolf if you were unlucky. It was like they’d tried to make a tiny little Central Park in their little gated world, and failed miserably. Muttering to himself, Dean turned another corner and skidded to a halt.

What the fuck..?

Dean prowled closer warily. He’d seen something like this in some sort of horror film, IT maybe, or some other older thing that harked back to a ‘days gone by’ type of era. A circular structure, with a tiled cottagey roof, wooden posts and a cheery paint job. Yeah, that was definitely what you put in the middle of a damned wood. 

A photo was duly taken and sent through to Sam, because if there was ever a Sam type job, this was it. The response didn’t take long.

_It’s a bandstand. Old fashioned but looks well maintained. Why?_

Dean frowned at the text message and then back at the bandstand, and then the surrounding area. Back to the trees again. Even the paths were pretty slim.

“Who the hell is the band supposed to be playing to? The bushes?” he prowled closer and carefully, gingerly lifted his hand to touch the wooden post as though expecting it to shock him. It didn’t, which was mildly shocking in itself. Dean released his breath and walked around it suspiciously. Yeah, that wasn’t normal. It looked at least half a century too old for the surrounding houses, which meant they either built on some ye olde town - never a good suggestion - or someone literally picked it up and built it somewhere else. And that was just plain weird.

Still, there were no blood stains. Nothing was making the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end either. No weird smell. No fucked up witch-like symbols. Just a .. well, glorified gazebo, a performance stand on stilts with opinions of grandeur. It even had little staircases with swirly decorations, the nearest one to him having a small sign hanging from it urging people to ‘please keep off’.

Obviously for other people other than him. 

Dean glanced over his shoulder again before carefully stepping over the chain and wandering onto the main stage. Yeah, still a gazebo. Still-

The sound of voices made his head snap up. And that was definitely his cue to leave; sure, it was probably just a couple of walkers doing their walkery things, but last thing he needed was a reputation for ignoring signs on his first damn day and anyway he just had to trot down the other steps before-

-and he never did finish that thought.

*

“Mr Scott? _Mr Scott!_ ”

There appeared to be banging at the front door. Although Castiel was the first to admit his knowledge of the human world was still growing, in his experience furious knocking was generally not a good sign. And, more the point, Dean was still not back yet.

Opening the door revealed a young woman of about thirty years, with long brown hair and extremely anxious eyes. Castiel frowned at her in uncertainty.

“..yes?”

“Oh, thank the lord! It’s your husband. He’s … well, there’s been an accident. Please, could you come with me?”

For a moment his heart felt as though it had stopped entirely, Castiel staring at her with the look of someone who had briefly forgotten the language. Accident. There were many types of accident, and many of them were lethal. But Dean was Dean. Lethal happened to other people, and he had to cling to that. 

“Is Dean alright?”

“I … well, I don’t know. Could you come? _Please?_ ” Wide eyes pleaded with him.

There was no other answer than yes. The woman ran ahead of him into the woodland, and Castiel had a brief acknowledgement of the potential trap before completely dismissing it as irrelevant if Dean was in trouble. He was his fake husband, his friend and his.. Well, that element was still under question, and Castiel still had little knowledge of how to tackle the thoughts and feelings that drifted through him when Dean was in question. He was a fascinating man. Perhaps sometimes too fascinating.

A few more minutes and they were approaching a small path junction where another woman was unsuccessfully trying to rouse a clearly unconscious Dean by use of a flapping of hands technique that Castiel suspected was to offer him some more ‘air’. He had seen it demonstrated in various older movies.

Not that it mattered. Castiel dropped to his knees next to Dean’s side and slowly began to check him over.

“We tried to carry him back but he was really heavy,” the first woman explained apologetically. “He might have a bruised leg from where we dropped him.”

Castiel winced internally but didn’t allow that to show as he continued his obvious physical investigation whilst searching with his mind through more angelic means. A dark bruise was already forming on Dean’s forehead, but Castiel could detect no further injury other than a small graze on his thigh which was probably the result of said failed rescue mission. He gently pressed his fingers to Dean’s neck, checked again, and then crouched to lift him smoothly into his arms once satisfied that he wasn’t going to harm him further. Both women stepped back, eyes wide.

“Is he okay?”

“I don’t know.” Castiel spoke gruffly, feeling Dean’s head rest against his chest and getting a better grip on his body. “Where did you find him?”

“Just up there. He was moving a little, and tried to say something and then just shut his eyes and went to sleep. We checked he was breathing. He’s still breathing, right?”

“He is.” Castiel didn’t bother to mention that lack of breathing normally classified as a definite ‘not okay’. He walked back to the house, conscious of the two women trotting behind him like very tall dogs and both still trying to engage him in conversation. It was not their fault but Castiel felt he had bigger things to worry about, and the biggest was currently safe in his arms with his head resting against the angel’s chest. 

It did, however, seem a little ungrateful not to acknowledge their concern. Having reached the house and deposited a still unconscious Dean carefully on the bed, Castiel turned to offer a small smile to the women.

“Thank you for letting me know. I’ll look after him,”

They stared at him in uncertainty. 

“He occasionally has dizzy spells,” Castiel offered, and gently shooed them from the residence. “I’ve found that checking him for injury and then letting him sleep it off is the best route. He should be fine, don’t worry.”

He wasn’t entirely sure that they believed him, but then he wasn’t entirely sure he believed himself. There was another small look, a little smile, and finally, _finally_ they were gone. Castiel let out a breath and then turned urgently back to the bed.

“Dean. _Dean_.” He didn’t dare try healing him. The bruising was dramatic and easily spotted on camera, and he had no doubt in a small location the news of the new man’s accident would spread quicker than a particularly hyperactive roadrunner. Still, all Castiel’s assessments suggested that Dean was simply sleeping whatever it was off; his organs were fine, his blood pressure, bones, nervous system… the only thing different was his head that was clearly set to ‘gone for a break’.

After five more minutes Castiel was more certain that nothing fundamentally large had happened and he closed his eyes wearily. So much for protection.

“I turn around for an hour..,” Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and then let them drop with a sigh as he reopened his eyes to look at him sadly. Dean, again, did nothing; his eyes were closed, his face peaceful. Castiel studied him for a moment, before gently brushing his fingertips across the line of Dean’s cheekbone to his jaw. Peaceful and surprisingly innocent, a boyish look of hope in his face. 

Still, he could watch over him until Dean was better. That was the least he could do under the circumstances.

Castiel watched him for a few more moments before picking up his phone.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Sam.”

“Everything okay?”

Castiel hesitated, then sighed. “Dean is unconscious.”

There was a long pause at the other end of the phone. “We talking bottle of alcohol unconscious, got into a fight unconscious or just … unconscious unconscious?”

“I don’t know. He was found in the middle of the Glen by some passers by.” Castiel moved back to the bed and slowly sat next to Dean, feeling the mattress dip under his weight. “He has a head injury but I don’t know whether that was pre or post unconsciousness.”

Sam digested that. “What was he doing?”

“Went for a run.”

“From what?” Sam asked automatically, then paused. “Wait, he went _jogging_?”

“It was your suggestion and he wanted to explore the community,” Castiel explained. “He was gone an hour. I’ve checked him over and he just seems to be asleep.”

Another silence from the other end of the phone. “Definitely didn’t prick his finger on a spindle, right?”

Castiel frowned, uncertain where the question was heading. “There were no wool making devices nearby, no.”

“Mm.” Sam made a soft noise, then sighed. “Okay. Well, probably best to just give him the night to sleep it off. But Cas? Keep an eye on him, will you?”

And that was easy.

“I won’t let him out of my sight.” Castiel promised. And of that he was certain.

*

There was a ceiling in front of him when Dean opened his eyes. Ordinarily that wasn’t a problem; you lie on a bed, you open your eyes and bam, ceiling. Only this time Dean wasn’t sure whether he recognised the ceiling. Or, for that matter, the room he was in. He looked around further, and then paused.

Or, more importantly, the half naked man lying next to him.

Dean froze, which seemed like a good idea at the time. The figure appeared to be asleep, head resting on a pillow and turned slightly toward him with his eyes closed. The blankets covered his lower half, draped over his form, but his upper half was bare and available for scrutiny. Muscular, smooth, curves, with a golden skin that seemed to glow in the morning … was it morning? He didn’t know … probably morning light in a manner that heaven itself would be proud of. 

Did he recognise the face? Dean studied him carefully. Dark hair, ruffled and slightly flopped over his forehead. A good looking face with a sweet expression, even in sleep. The dark shadow around his jaw that indicated a shave was probably needed in the near future. 

No, was the answer. But still, the mystery man didn’t look like some murderer. Not that Dean really knew what a murderer looked like, and certainly not what a murderer looked like sleeping, but who knew, perhaps they slept cuddling their bloody axes as though they were teddy bears.

Well, he might not be a murderer but there were a whole range of other awkward reasons for a half naked - or fully naked - guy next to him. Dean bit his lip and looked around the room a little more, before slowly sliding out of the bed and landing on the floor with a soft little bump. He waited, heart in his mouth, but there was no movement from the man nearby.

Letting out a soft sigh of relief, Dean crawled a little way on the floor and slowly pushed himself up. A quick glance down at himself told him he wasn’t really in much better state; he was wearing a pair of dark blue boxers and very little else, and had a throbbing headache that a quick glance in a mirror confirmed related to a bruise on his forehead. Dean rubbed it gingerly and carefully moved to the table where a couple of phones sat, one slightly cracked but working. 

Was it his phone? 

He stared at it for a short time, hoping that something - _something_ \- might come back. Like the memory of the colour of his phone. Dean paused and then groaned softly. Like his own damned _name_.

“Fuck,” Dean whispered, rubbing his temple with the ball of his hand before slowly making his way into the next room which turned out to be some long living room with a snazzy couch that looked so damned new it probably crunched if you sat on it. He stared around himself again. Pretty damned bare. No photographs, no nick-nacks, no pictures on the wall, just white and cream and wooden floors. 

This was his taste? It couldn’t be his taste. Perhaps it was the guy in the bedroom’s house. Perhaps they’d been drinking and came back for .. Dean hesitated over that possibility, and rubbed his forehead again tiredly, before blinking around for any signs of clothes. And hell, at this point Dean didn’t care whether they were his clothes or whether they were his ‘friend’s’. Clothes were clothes and anything was better than just a single thin sheet of cotton that was all that shielded his vulnerable bits from the outside world.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” he muttered as he prowled around the room for something, _anything_ , on where he was. A pamphlet about something called The Glen sat on a bookshelf, although Dean noted the fact there weren’t many books in said bookshelf other than that. A trenchcoat was neatly hung on the back of a chair. A slightly battered green canvas coat that was less neatly thrown to one side, a small car oil stain on one sleeve and nothing in the pockets other than what appeared to be a spent bullet. Well, that was cheerful.

Still nothing. Dean growled softly and in faint desperation, and edged toward the window. It was light outside and the noises were .. well, normal. People talking, laughing, a couple of vehicles driving slowly. Children playing with a ball. A dog barking. Hell, it sounded like some sort of holiday camp. And that was good, right? It had to be good.

Whether it was good or not was soon to be tested; he was easing himself into the trenchcoat as the longer of two options when he suddenly noticed movement from the window and realised that someone was heading toward the door with a packet. 

Fuck. 

Casting a look back at the bedroom, Dean swiftly headed to the door and carefully - _carefully_ \- opened it with as few squeaks as he could humanly make. A blond woman stared at him in shock for a moment, her hand already outstretched as though to knock, her eyes automatically moving to study the nude-trenchcoat fashion before rising again and offering him a bright smile. 

“Oh, thank god-,”

“Shhh,” Dean held up a hand and returned the smile, carefully shuffling out the door and letting it close a little. Thank god for bushes that meant he wasn’t immediately visible to the road. “Sorry, he’s asleep-,”

“Oh! Of course, how sweet.”

Of course it was. Sweetness personified, that was him. Dean offered her another smile that was relaxed as he could make it.

“Yeah, sorry. Been a long night,”

“We were so worried about you last night, Dean,” she said softly. “What with your injury and all. Do you feel okay now?”

Did he feel okay. Well, that was a complicated question. Dean winced slightly and rubbed the back of his head with a hand, slightly sheepishly.

“Bit of a headache. To be honest, I can’t really remember much of it..,” he deliberately trailed off, and, as suspected, she was quick to jump into the details. Thank god for neighbour services.

“So when Deborah and I couldn’t really carry you, Debs ran back here and was lucky enough to find Cas. He picked you up and brought you home.” She had the bright, happy smile of someone pleased with the general world picture. Dean nodded slowly. Dean. His name was Dean. And the guy in there was Cas. And Cas was …

“Thank the lord your boyfriend is strong! He carried you like you weighed nothing at all,” the woman chuckled, a fond look in her eye that spoke of romantic images and other such crap. Only Dean wasn’t thinking of romantic images, not right then.

“.. boyfriend?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, I am sorry!”

Dean briefly relaxed.

“Your _husband_. I’m so sorry, I just always call people’s partners their boyfriend or girlfriend, and I guess it’s a habit-,”

Dean unrelaxed. He opened his mouth to speak and then slowly closed it again, before giving another little glance toward the door. Husband. _Husband_. He was in the bed because they were… because it was.. 

Mm.

Right.

Okay.

Yes.

“You are _so_ lucky,” the woman placed her hand on Dean’s arm, her voice a little conspiratorial, and Dean smiled back at her which seemed the most sensible thing to do under the circumstances. 

Husband.

He was married? He didn’t feel married. Dean’s gaze fell on the front garden and focused on the picket fence. A white picket fence. With a little white house, on a little street, with families around him and _oh dear god-_

“Dean?” the voice had grown concerned again. “Are you okay? You look a little pale. Here! I got you and Cas some breakfast from the Great Hall,” 

A basket was thrust upon him, with the smell of bacon in the air. Dean’s stomach growled. His arm was patted again, as though it was a small creature that wasn’t sure whether to flee. 

“I’ll come speak to you later on, okay? You go in, get some food in you, sit down. You poor love!”

“Yeah.” The poor love looked at the basket and then looked back at her again, still dazed. “Um. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You’re part of the Glen, now! We’re all family.”

“Oh? Well, that’s really awesome of you. Thanks,” he smiled back again and lifted the basket slightly as a small salute, before slowly easing back into the house and clicking the door closed again. He stared down wordlessly at the offered basket of bacon and bread products and sighed, before turning around and looking up.

Cas looked back at him from about ten centimeters away from his nose.

“Fucking hell!!” The basket went flying and Dean went automatically backward until his back hit the door. Eyes wide, panting softly and his heart feeling like it was about to jump out his chest, Dean tried to recover his decorum. “Dammit, Cas!”

The man known as Cas was looking at him with a curious expression, eyes narrowed slightly as though trying to look into Dean’s brain and read his thoughts. There was a little flicker of apology in his eyes, which turned out to be a vivid blue.

“I am sorry, Dean. I did not mean to startle you.”

Dean stared back at him. Husband. He was _married_ to this guy. And could he remember any of it? Fuck, no. But .. well, as guys went, he was good. He was _really_ good, despite the faded blue boxers. His voice was deep and husky and commanding, and his expression was .. well, a bit weird, but then again it sounded like it had been an exciting night.

Married. _Married_. Holy fuck.

“Yeah, well, you did.” Dean recovered enough to speak and offered him a small little smile. “Um. The lady came with some breakfast. I didn’t catch her name but her friend is Deborah. You want some bacon?”

But Cas did not want bacon. His gaze fell a little lower in obvious confusion.

“I saw you get up and I didn’t want to disturb you. And you are wearing my trenchcoat.” he said slowly. Dean looked down at himself. Well, couldn’t really deny that one.

“Uh. Guilty.”

There was a little pause of silence.

“ _Why_ are you wearing my trenchcoat, Dean?” he lifted his hand and Dean forced himself not to jump as gentle fingers gently rested against his cheekbone, the man squinting at the injury to head. “And how is the injury? Is it any better? Can you remember what happened?”

“No.” said Dean truthfully. Cas’s eyes narrowed again in thought.

“No to which bit?”

“Uh, the last one. I’m feeling better. I think, I don’t know how I felt last night, but I’m awake and that has to be good, right?” He bent down to pick up the basket and offered it a little desperately. “You sure you don’t want bacon?”

Cas eyed him carefully. “And the trenchcoat?”

“Uh, I wanted to go out for a bit of fresh air.” 

“Fresh air is something that is highly regarded in these parts,” Cas nodded solemnly, then looked at the basket again. “You should probably eat. Sam brought over a pie which I don’t believe you’ve seen since it’s still physically in the kitchen rather than eaten. You need to get your strength up.”

“Oh? Oh, yeah. Well, Sam knows my tastes,” Dean offered. Cas frowned at him a little more.

“Yes, a brotherly bond apparently manifests in pies and so called friendly insults. Are you sure you’re feeling okay, Dean?”

He had a brother? A brother called Sam, and a husband called Cas, and a white house on a street with a white fence and a big bed and shit he needed some bacon and pie and needed it pretty damned quick. And some vodka. Or whisky. Or alcohol in general.

Having sat down at the kitchen table, Dean took another look at Cas as he began to demolish the bacon rolls that Not-Debs had brought. His husband. Currently sounded a little stern, but then that did seem to be concern and confusion, and Dean guessed his own behaviour probably wasn’t acting right. Who knew, perhaps he was normally a hugger and Cas was wondering why he hadn’t had his morning kiss.

Dean took a long, confused mouthful of coffee. He was still wearing the trenchcoat, the fabric a little weird against his bare skin, and offered Cas a slightly nervous smile as the man came back bearing some clothes. Jeans, t-shirt, green light shirt. Stuff that made him feel a whole lot better.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Dean.” the gravelly deep voice again, so solemn, so _dedicated_ , and Dean felt a little throb of interest in his core as he studied the blue eyes that were watching him. Definitely good looking. Jawline to die for. Expressive eyes that seemed to swap between puppy dog to stern master back to puppy dog again. Still wearing very little that showed off his body like some classic statue.

And all his, apparently. Dean suddenly had a wave of pleasure hit him. Why the hell was he fighting this? 

“Uh. So, what’s the plan for today again?” he asked as casually as he could. Cas studied him for a moment before giving a quick glance around the room and back again.

“You were going to finish off your explorations.” For some reason Cas’ voice seemed to be very deep with a private message feeling. Damn, what was he exploring? “I didn’t get much information from last night, but there’s some type of ceremony tomorrow when the sun goes down. A welcome to the community thing, they said.”

Dean made a soft scoff through bacon. “What, like some sort of witch circle? Better be careful, they’ll turn us all into sheep or squirrels or something.”

Cas was giving him a funny look, and it definitely wasn’t the ha-ha type.

“C’mon Cas, it’s okay. Witches aren’t exactly real, remember?” Dean rolled his eyes as he finished the bacon and started on his coffee. The funny look intensified further. Fuck. Was the man a Wiccan or something? Or perhaps he was heavily religious. You could never tell with people, look all normal and then bam! Weird shit like ghosts and guardian angels. 

But Cas looked sweet and noble. Probably nothing. Better to apologise anyway, probably shoved his foot in it.

Dean pushed himself up, setting the coffee down on the table for a moment as he drew closer to Castiel. The man looked a little startled as Dean placed his hand lightly on his arm, and then even more bewildered as Dean gently raised Castiel’s chin with his other hand and gently, cautiously, pressed a soft kiss to his mouth in apology.

“M’sorry. I didn’t mean to tease.” he said softly. Always better to apologise, and he was sure Cas was a good person. Definitely didn’t really need to dig deeper into his memories, it was clear as day. Still, Cas was still staring at him as though he’d messed something up, and Dean studied him for a moment in uncertainty.

“You okay?”

Finally the man managed to unfreeze. “Uh. Yes. Yes, I’m okay. I’m sorry, it’s been .. well, it’s been an odd evening, and now a peculiar morning.”

Dean chuckled and rested his arms around Castiel’s neck lazily. “Yeah, I bet. I’m sorry. I was probably just a bit clumsy, didn’t mean to worry you. Did you .. ah, did you want to go to the Great Hall and get some food? I think the lady said that’s what they did.”

Which was a lie, that was from the brochure, but who was counting. Castiel was still eyeing him carefully, and Dean kissed him again, a little deeper, enjoying the taste and the feel of the man’s mouth against his own. Yeah, okay, he could get used to it, and there was another ripple of need and sensation that shot down his spine as the other man began to cautiously kiss him back. Only for a moment though, a flicker of change before the man went back to prim and proper. Perhaps he was one of those people who liked romantic gestures at set schedules.

“Dean-,” the sternness had faded now, a more anxious look in his eyes. Dean chuckled softly.

“I’m okay. Honest. I’m not going to pass out on you,” he murmured back. “And, who knows, perhaps my headache will go early enough for tonight’s bedroom activities to still be in play, yeah?”

There was a very long silence from the man in front of him.

“You want to-,” the voice was still deep and gravely but there was a slight hint of strangled to it. Okay, Cas was a fusser.

“You know me, I always want to.” Dean grinned. And that, he knew, was pretty damned right. Funny, really. He knew himself, he knew his general personality, it was just all the fiddly historical details that just weren’t around. And who needed that, really? If they were staying here with their new community, no one needed to know about who their neighbours were fifteen years ago, or who their school mates were, or family members that no one ever saw outside of Christmas dinner, or .. well, that type of thing. No, the key was here and now, and right here was his mostly naked husband, strong, silent, and with an erection that Dean could feel pressing against him in heat and persistence. The grin increased. That was definitely good.

“Chill, Cas.” he whispered. “Just enjoy it, yeah? I promise I won’t break either myself or you.”

And that had to be the main thing, surely?

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

“Sam.”

“How is he?” Sam’s voice was a little urgent on the other end of the phone, which was definitely understandable. The situation was worrying and developing at what seemed to be a rapid pace; in fact, Castiel had literally just taken a very cold shower to remove some of the developments, but he wasn’t entirely sure his body had taken the hint. Dean had equally been disappointed to find that ‘bedroom activities’ were not immediately forthcoming, but thankfully he had also been distracted by the shower. Small blessings during hard times.

Extremely hard times, and in so many ways.

Castiel sighed and gazed toward the window. How to approach this subject with tact and decorum and .. well. In the background he could hear the sounds of the shower running and pieces of Dean singing happily. Currently Dean was crooning about not needing reason or rhyme, which was probably sensible.

“He’s awake.”

“O..kay,” Sam said slowly, who was clearly aware that a lack of straight ‘he’s okay’ normally meant something more complicated. “Does he remember anything?”

“Not that I can tell, whether about last night or indeed about anything. He seems determined to pretend he is fine. He knows his first name, my name, and a little about the community, but his background and history appear to be lost.” Castiel hesitated. “And he seems a little ...confused.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. “Confused over what?”

“His behaviour is a little questionable.” Castiel glanced back toward the door, uncertain how to describe the current situation without inadvertently blowing their cover. He hesitated, and pushed on. “He woke up this morning and tried to creep out of the room as though not trying to wake me up which was .. curious. Since that point he seems to be happier, although that’s based on the number of kisses he has already given me.”

There was an even longer pause on the other end of the phone. Castiel eyed the corners of the room waiting for a response that never really came, and then sighed softly.

“You know he doesn’t normally go for full mouth kisses in the morning before breakfast.” Castiel emphasised the point. Small signs of affection were one thing. Kisses with hints of sexual behaviour were quite another.

Apparently Sam caught the hint as the pause seemed to get even more solid. Finally there was a soft noise at the end of the phone which could have been a number of things.

“Uh. Yeah.” said Sam quietly. “I guess you could say he’s more an evening kisser.”

“I understand he has _other_ plans for the evening.” Castiel replied in a warning voice.

“... really? Wow.” Sam was clearly struggling on what to say and think. This was a situation that Castiel was very familiar with. “As in he wants to…?”

For one of the first times in his life Castiel could fill in the blanks. Unfortunately, it was also penis shaped.

“I believe so.” he said, a little grimly.

“Oh.” Sam paused again. There were many pauses, and each of them valid. “Uh. Wow. Well, that does sound like he’s getting over his head injury if he’s feeling .. uh, energetic.” 

“That is certainly one way to interpret it.” Castiel allowed. “Were you coming over today? I could do with your help. Our-,” Brief pause as he searched for an excuse. “-water is being a little difficult. Would you be able to fix it?”

“I can definitely give it a go.” Sam said, a little doubtfully.

“Thank you, Sam. I confess myself to be particularly poor when it comes to…,” Castiel looked up to find that Dean had finished with his shower, wandering out naked and glistening whilst rubbing his hair with the towel. “...water.”

What was almost worse was that this was no act of seduction, simply a man comfortable with his surroundings and the people in it. A bright, happy smile aimed itself at Castiel, a sentiment echoed in Dean’s soft green eyes, and the angel forced himself to remember he was mid-conversation.

“... Dean, did you remember to close the curtains before you wander around naked?” he said as the best thing to do to alert Sam to this new development. And it was certainly a development; Dean seemed to be relaxing swiftly to his current predicament, and that was without any solution in sight. In fact, Castiel still was not entirely certain whether Dean viewed his memory loss as an issue at all, a situation that was as perplexing as it was complicated.

Still, there was definitely Dean still in there. A familiar cocky ‘don’t care’ grin answered that comment as Dean continued to rub his hair dry, arms up and offering the angel a view that could challenge many of God’s natural wonders. And this was definitely inappropriate. They were on a mission. Dean was both his friend and his non-romantic partner. There were rules of engagement to consider.

Castiel closed his eyes wearily. Sometimes it didn’t take much to see why angels fell.

“He’s naked now?” Sam said on the other end of the phone. 

“That is correct.”

“Wow.” Apparently the current situation was having an impact on Sam’s vocabulary. The younger Winchester coughed and managed to discover new words. This was extremely pleasing, as Castiel had already concluded that his own mind would be troubled for some time. “Perhaps he got hit on the head harder than we thought. You gonna be okay until I get over there? Probably half an hour, tops.”

Debatable. Castiel cast another look at Dean and then immediately away again as though eyes were scalded by burning light.

“I will,” he said. There was no other answer to give, after all. He was aware of his charge’s gaze falling on him as soon as he hung up, a wary look in Dean’s eyes.

“Who was that?” Dean’s voice was casual but Castiel believed he could detect the slight hint of nervousness. 

“Sam.”

Dean seemed relieved by the name. Or at least, for a moment anyway. Worry faded to relief faded to faint annoyance, and that was another puzzle on top of a number of mysteries.

“Wait, he’s coming around again? I thought he’d been over here recently.” Dean gave Castiel a critical look, then made a soft pft noise. “That’s a bit weird, isn’t it? I mean, I’m all for close brotherly love, but there’s love and then there’s .. well, being a bit clingy. Ain’t natural, Cas.”

The angel had not anticipated this aversion to Sam, and Castiel pondered on its significance. That Dean would not be as close was a given, but it had been less than half a day and there were strong objections despite Dean not having seen his brother in this new headspace. Why? It was all very perplexing.

“He’s coming to help fix the water,” Castiel said slowly. Dean stared at him in confusion.

“The water’s broken? But I just had a shower with no problems,” he lifted his arms to demonstrate his clean and still slightly damp naked body. It was true. He was very showered.

“One of the valves came away,” Or at least it would do in under ten minutes once Castiel had time to locate something to break. “The water pressure is a little haphazard.”

“Oh. Okay.” Dean considered then then shrugged. “Well, it’s nice of him to fix it, but after that he’s gotta head on out. We’re married now, he’s just got to get used to it. Right?”

The world decided to stop moving for a moment. Castiel forced himself to respond.

“Right.”

“Awesome.” Dean grinned at him and tossed the damp towel his way which Castiel caught automatically. Following to pick it up, Dean pressed a light kiss to the angel’s cheek and purred softly. “S’okay, Cas. You’re not going to get sent to hell for doing naughty things in the middle of the day, I promise.”

“That is definitely debatable.” 

Dean laughed softly. “Ah, you’re my little angel sometimes, you know that?”

“And that is the one thing I am certain of in a whole day of confusion.”

That seemed to please Dean even further. A small smile, a happy look to his eyes and Dean pressed another little kiss to his cheek before wandering toward the bedroom and clothing. Castiel released the breath he’d been holding and closed his eyes. Dear god, there were difficult tasks and then there was this. 

As he moved to the sink, leaning down and finding a subtle way to break the system with a quick twist, his eyes moved back to the door that Dean had vanished through. The man was quite certain they were married. Castiel had no idea whether that would prove to be good or bad; his mind had wandered to such a situation in the past, but that was with someone who was fully aware of his surroundings and history and implications. Dean might be willing, but he had no information to base his decision on. The situation should be clear.

And yet the tender look in Dean’s eyes was-

Castiel sighed again and stood from the sink, wiping his hands on a dishcloth briefly.

\- complicated. It was extremely complicated.

“Hey. D’you think I should wear the green or the blue?” the words were casually said from the doorway. Castiel glanced up to discover that neither the green nor the blue were the most pressing matters right at this stage, Dean calmly leaning against the doorframe still wearing nothing more than a half smile and a new twinkle in his eye that seemed pizza man level of erotic.

Extremely complicated discovered a new top level to ascend to. 

“Hey,” Dean said softly. “You okay? You look a little troubled.”

And troubled was certainly a milder version of the word he was planning to use. This was becoming harder by the moment, and certainly unethical. Castiel straightened his shoulders, a fine, soldier like movement that did absolutely nothing for his strength of mind, nor the persistent want that seemed to be a worm burying itself in his head, whispering possibilities. Inappropriate possibilities. Possibilities that would definitely not be what a friend would do for another, and yet the softness in Dean’s eyes and the tease in his smile were difficult invitations to ignore.

Dean, of course, managed to turn a difficulty into a near impossibility. Pushing himself from the doorframe and coming closer, Dean’s hand gently and curiously slid over Castiel’s chest, his eyes clearly fascinated by what he found. Castiel forced himself to stand still. This was… well, it was .. inappropriate. Yes. 

“Dean, you were supposed to be getting dressed.” his voice was stern and hard but the determination was not present, and Castiel suspected that Dean was equally aware of his traitorous indecision.

The hand wandered across his tense chest, tracing along the line of his muscles and exploring with a delicate touch. Dean was so close now, his naked form close enough for him to feel his heat and breath in his scent, the different hues sparkling in curious green eyes, and it would take so little to lean into the touch, to move against the clearly willing man and explore whatever it was that Dean had it in his mind to do.

But Dean was clearly not in his right mind. Whatever those plans were did not relate to reality, and any movement would simply be taking advantage of a trusted friend.

Castiel closed his eyes briefly, praying for strength, which doubled again as Dean began to gently but determinedly push him in the direction of the bedroom and the large and very welcoming bed.

“It is still daylight,” Castiel seized on the first objection he could think of, a little desperately. Dean glanced at him in bewilderment and then laughed.

“Curtains are pretty thick. It’s okay, Cas. No one will know.”

He would know. He would know a lot. Castiel dug his heels into the floor and fixed Dean with a look normally reserved for disobedient fledgling angels who were testing the boundaries. Not that this seemed to make any difference to Dean’s behaviour. In fact the grin seemed to widen, like a small child that had discovered a new game to play with priceless artefacts that hadn’t been hidden away enough.

“Dean.” The word was a warning.

“Cas.” The name was a tease.

Sometimes he really wished he could pray. He had a list of things to discuss. Dean chuckled again and gently pressed another little kiss to Castiel’s rigid cheek, another addition to the collection of things he was not trying to pay attention to. This case was swiftly turning into an elaborate and unfair nightmare. He currently had no idea what was properly going through Dean’s mind, and Castiel wasn’t sure that Dean did either.

“We should not be doing this.” Castiel warned. 

“Why not?” Dean frowned.

… it was a good question, and one that Castiel did not have an immediate answer to. The broken water system would not save him now, and Castiel looked into the eyes of a man who firmly and utterly believed they were one.

Castiel believed this type of situation was the reason for the creation of the word ‘um’. 

“We have obligations,” he said softly, and there was a slightly sulky, rebellious look in Dean’s eyes.

“Then let’s un-obligate them,” he pressed another little kiss, this time to Castiel’s mouth, before leaning back and sighing softly. “Okay. What’s the matter? Have I done something wrong?”

“No.”

Dean raised an eyebrow to signify this was neither a suitable reason, nor a reasonable excuse. Castiel sighed internally. Sometimes he really wished that humans came with a manual. 

“You have not done anything.” Castiel elaborated. “I’m sorry. I’m just worried,”

Castiel would have continued but Dean’s mouth on his cut short any words he was planning to say, a warm, loving kiss that lingered, and Castiel was far too aware of the sweet taste of Dean, just as he was acutely aware of the hardness of Dean’s form against his own and his other hand trailing down Castiel’s back.

This was close enough to torture that even demons could take notes, his body so stiff that it hurt. The kiss paused, Dean drawing back slightly to look at him worriedly.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I am okay. I just … don’t know whether this is a good time.”

He was definitely sure it wasn’t a good time, however etiquette apparently dictated uncertainty as ‘more polite’. Humans were odd.

“A good time?” Dean repeated, his eyebrows rising briefly before he laughed. “C’mon, live a little Cas! We have time. You’re keen, I’m keen and there’s a really big bed _right there_ -”

A kiss thankfully resolved where that conversation was going, and it was proving to be one of the more enjoyable physical forms of punctuation. They were breathless when the kiss was finally broken off, their gazes locked in what appeared to be a romantic game of chicken where each waited for the other to form the situation.

And this was very, very dangerous.

“Dean,” Castiel spoke softly. “I am _still_ worried. Your memories haven’t returned and .. well, there are some things that might alter your decisions.”

There was a short pause as Dean considered that.

“It’s Sam, isn’t it?” Dean said finally. Well, that was not an angle that Castiel had immediately thought of, but he was currently willing to seize upon any excuse that seemed less complicated than their current position.  
,  
“Partly.” he said truthfully, and was going to expand when there was a soft noise of dismissal from Dean, who shook his head.

Dean lifted his head and gave him a defiant look. “Let me guess. He doesn’t want us together?”

Definitely a direction he had not anticipated either. The day was full of surprises and most of them required a significant amount of thought.

“Sam has been clear that he wants us together in this place.” Castiel said finally. Which again was true, even if the circumstances had altered. The angel hesitated. “He just doesn’t want you hurt.”

Dean stared at him steadily and trustingly. “Would you hurt me?”

“Of course not,” Castiel was stung by the suggestion.

“Then we’re good, right?”

And with that Castiel found himself lost for words yet again. Dean was still pressed against him, the warm familiar strength, and still so absent of fear or concern. It was not normal. And yet right at that point Castiel was not certain he cared. 

“Sam will be here shortly,” he heard himself saying.

“Sam can cope.”

“He may well be able to. I, however, would not.” 

Dean hesitated, uncertainty finally returning to his eyes as he pondered that aspect to the scene. His fingers played with the buttons of his shirt like a small child, before Dean sighed heavily and pushed himself back with a rueful smile.

“Yeah, okay. Raincheck on that, then. As long as you swear there’s no other problem?”

“I swear.” Castiel was losing track of sins. Another few would make no difference to his tally. He lowered his voice, adding a little bit of softness. “Just get dressed, Dean.”

Dean eyed him again before shrugging and beginning to finally - _finally_ \- dress himself. Castiel felt himself relax a little as Dean’s skin met up with a fabric cover, although it was clear that Dean was slowly recovering his confidence. This promised that Castiel’s hands would still be full in the near future.

Full of what was probably to be determined.

Castiel was about to comment when his gaze caught sight of Dean’s boot.

“Your laces are untied.”

Dean glanced down and shrugged. “It’s only one of them and it’s not that bad.”

Castiel fixed him a stern look. No. Not on his watch.

“You have literally just hit your head from some type of incident. Increasing the chance of a tripping hazard seems a little foolhardy.” the words were a sharp scold although from the look on Dean’s face he wasn’t sure those words had truly landed the way he’d intended.

“Ah, Cas, I love it when you’re all firm.” Dean’s eyes twinkled. There was a pause.

“Is that behaviour or euphemism?” Castiel queried suspiciously. They had got him in the past on this before. Dean’s grin widened slightly and he deliberately and slowly tightened his laces before chuckling softly and taking hold of Castiel’s unresisting hand. 

“Whichever you like.”

As though that made it any easier.

*

It was getting easier. Sure, he still couldn’t remember much … if anything .. of his previous life, but Dean was increasingly certain he wasn’t missing much. And life seemed peaceful here, with the people and the architecture and the shared food that had more doughnuts than even he could cope with. 

And then of course there was Cas. Yeah, he needed to remember more about how they met and those little details and memories and shared knowledge, but hell, they had the rest of their lives to create new ones. In the great scheme of things, who cared? Cas watched over him carefully, solemn and protective, and although he wasn’t jumping immediately into bed after the incident - a shame - it still felt good, like having his own personal guardian angel to watch over him. 

Dean snorted softly to himself at that. Messed up to even think that was a good thing, but then there were probably multiple things in people’s lives that felt good but weren’t easy to admit. And Cas took his role really seriously, asking casual questions to people, finding out more about their community, the people, even the woods and history, and that all sounded kinda dull but then again it was hard to focus on woods when he was far more interested in finding out what made his new husband tick. 

Dean ran his tongue across his bottom lip hungrily. Weird, really. Early that morning he’d had to really think about where he was and what was going on. Now, it was just so damned natural. Any worries or fears or concerns seemed to have just melted away, and he was free to accept what was right in front of him. And that something was damned good, from his mournful eyes to his really tight calves. Had he ever really focused on someone’s calves? Couldn’t remember. Probably not, there were surely other better body parts to consider, and yet every part of Cas seemed fantastic in a way.

The fantastic parts of him were even better with the little touches here and there. A hand resting on his shoulder. A little hand hold. A brush against his back whenever Cas moved past him, a soft murmur in his ear that sent a shiver down his spine. Little shows of affection, and the community seemed more than happy to witness it. Hell, they’d even encouraged them to go to the ceremony the next day and Dean was fully up for it. This was their community, the rituals kinda came with it all. Seemed ridiculous to fight it. 

Sometimes he wondered whether Cas was on the same wavelength as him when it came to the community, but Dean reckoned he could change his mind easily enough. The little narrowed eyed expression that spoke of misgivings could be switched, he was sure. That was the good thing about people trying to do the right thing, it was so much fun to drag them into doing the _impolite_ thing.

And hell, they were married. It was probably part of the contract. Oh yeah, Cas might pretend he was very proper and well mannered, but Dean was pretty sure there was a happy little pervert under the collar. 

Of course, the universe wasn’t always in the mood to encourage such activities. 

“Remember that Sam’s coming around-,” Cas had said apologetically as Dean stepped behind him, arms wrapping around him loosely and his mouth pressing a little kiss to Cas’ neck to earn a small shiver down his partner’s back.

“Oh. Yeah.” Dean said glumly. “Sam.”

He couldn’t remember this brother of his, but his timing sucked balls. Just to fix the water? Man, that was annoying. It was good of him to come he guessed, but still. Didn’t want to show that though, Cas was giving him another confused look over his shoulder at his reaction.

Instead Dean pushed himself away, fixed a carefully planned smile and shrugged carelessly, moving into the kitchen and grabbing an apple to bite into.

The confused look multiplied.

“You’re eating _fruit_?” Castiel said carefully, as though testing each word. “That isn’t already baked into a pie?”

Dean looked bewildered. “Am I not allowed to? Fuck, am I allergic?!”

Castiel hesitated. “In a manner of speaking, although not medically. Dean, are you _sure_ -,”

“I’m fine! Yes, I’m fine, everything is good, I just fancied a bit of healthy living, okay?” Dean raised his hands in surrender. “Is that a bad thing?”

“It’s not bad, just surprising.”

“Cas, people can change.” Dean looked at him fondly. Yeah, man was a worrier, but that was kinda cute. The way it made his eyes wider, like some kid faced with a new playground wonder. The uncertainty that balanced out the strict, gruff deep voice. Pretty adorable. He wandered closer and gently took hold of his husband’s tie - a _tie!_ It was like some weird 50s sitcom - and pulled him closer.

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” he scanned the blue eyes in front of him and gently kissed a beautifully soft mouth. Cas’ kisses were always so delicate, like he was torn between lust and guilt and barely there, and this one lingered so gently.

Well, up until a noise at the door, anyway. Apparently the knocker didn’t consider waiting until the door was actually open before coming in.

“Oh, fuck, sorry-,”

Castiel jumped like a startled bunny, and Dean closed his eyes wearily. Okay. Didn’t recognise that voice so that probably meant this was the brother. And if the scared look on Cas’ face was anything to go by, Dean reckoned that Sam probably didn’t approve, even with all the water fixing he was planning to do for them.

Turning, he was mildly surprised to note that the man’s face was equally cautious, but then Dean was past caring. The occasional interruption he could deal with, but this was a whole lot of shit. If Sammy-kins was going to disapprove of same sex marriages he could damned well not walk in without warning.

“Hi,” he said, a little bluntly. “Cas said you’d be dropping by.”

Sam the brother looked from Dean to Cas and then to Dean again with the look of someone trying to work out a magic trick. Dean stared back at him steadily. Wasn’t going to apologise for who he was, or who he lived with. And apparently Sam had stolen all the height when they were growing up, man was massive, clad in flannel, jaw looking like someone had chiseled it, and had the floppy glossy hair of a pedigree show dog.

“Dean.” Sam said finally, and awkwardly. Dean tilted his head to indicate that this was indeed his name, still staring at Sam defiantly. There was another little desperate look toward Castiel before Sam coughed and lifted up a bag of tools. “Uh. I understand you had a water problem?”

“Mm.” Dean’s gaze never wavered.

“It’s this way, Sam.” Cas stepped forward, and then eyed Dean. “Stop being rude.”

“Me?” Dean scoffed, perching himself on the sofa. “I’m sweet and innocent.”

“You are not and we will be having words later on,” Castiel replied sternly, and then nodded to Sam again to lead him out the back where the water pipes or whatever the damned thing they were fixing was. Probably some mains or something, not that Dean really noticed the water pressure being anything bad.

He sighed and rubbed his face. Fuck, he was getting grumpy in his old age. Perhaps Sam really was here to help, Cas seemed to like him and he was happy to follow his husband’s lead when it came to people he couldn’t remember. Still, didn’t like the way that Castiel had moved away from him so damned quickly when he thought that Sam was watching them. That spoke of bad things in the past, and Sam was a big guy who probably packed a punch.

Dean smiled grimly. Well, he could pack a punch as well, and if he didn’t talk to his brother for a while would it really be that bad? Sam probably had some girl stashed away, and a dog, and potentially kids. He looked the kids type of guy. Sam didn’t need Dean, and Dean had his own life now.

No, the Glen was their home and Sam could happily fuck off.

All he needed to do was point that out.

*

“So.” Sam said as soon as they were positioned near what Sam assured him related to the water. Castiel closed his eyes wearily. And he knew that voice well.

“Please do not go into the situation too deeply.”

“It’s kinda hard not to, Cas. You said he was acting differently but that’s … well, that’s kinda a big difference.”

“I am aware. I’m just not sure what to do with it.” Castiel folded his arms. “He has firmly fixated on our marriage, in detriment to all others.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose further. “Your marriage, huh?”

“Indeed.” Castiel studied him steadily, waiting for the smirk. There was amusement in Sam’s eyes, but he was happy to note the mix of concern. Sam tapped the bag of tools with one finger, thinking it over.

“Well, he doesn’t seem to be in pain. That has to be a good thing.” he said slowly. “And although he’s being a bit of an asshole, I kinda recognise him from that too. It’s still Dean, just the suspicious version of Dean whenever he’s planning to fight for something everyone else thinks is crazy. Is he doing anything else other than the … uh, marriage focus?”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Not really, although I really don’t know how many of his memories he still has. He seems to have taken to the concept of the community well.”

“Really? The community?” Sam mused over that. “Well, I guess if his memory is dodgy then there’s not much else to focus on. Other than your marriage. And speaking of that..,”

The words trailed off suggestively. Castiel returned the look with a firm one of his own. This was not amusing. This was difficult, and difficult on many levels. Still, Sam wasn’t allowing the silence to halt and finally Castiel decided to puncture the implications before they gained proverbial legs.

“He is keen,” he said finally, and with extreme emphasis. “Very keen, and I cannot possibly undertake the level of intimacy he wishes as he is at the moment. Which makes it imperative that you fix the water soon as possible, as clearly we cannot do anything until he has the ability to take a shower. A proper shower. A shower we can fully discuss.”

There was a pause as Sam tried to decode that message. Castiel didn’t think it was too unwieldy. There were only so many replacements for their case work, and either fixing the supernatural issue would resolve Dean’s memory loss or allow them to add in the gaps that Dean was clearly ignoring. 

“It’s hard to fix the water quickly when you’re essentially on your own.” Sam pointed out. 

“Fuck sake, are you two _still_ talking about the water?” Dean walked out to meet them, stretching slightly before walking next to Castiel and casually taking his hand in a small throwaway act of intimacy that felt more solid than any of Dean’s sexual suggestions. Castiel attempted to look nonchalant, and ignored Sam’s gaze.

“It is an important subject,” Castiel replied gravely. 

“Yeah. You definitely miss it when it’s gone,” Sam added. Dean looked from one to the other and then, suspiciously, at the little service box that Sam was threatening to repair.

“There’s supposed to be a lake nearby. We could always swim in that,” Dean said. Castiel winced internally. Ordinarily he was always impressed with Dean’s levels of inventiveness and sheer bloodymindedness to find a solution, but this was not one of those times. He shot a desperate look at Sam, who made a small helpless face back. There would be no assistance there.

“The lake does not have the required levels of … cleanliness,” Castiel tried.

“And it would probably be a little public,” Sam added.

“Not to mention the frigid temperature.” 

“And I’m fairly certain that it’ll have tadpoles. You don’t like tadpoles,” Sam offered.

“Or eels.”

“Eels are pretty bad, Dean. Definitely want to avoid those,”

Dean had been watching them back and forth, arms folded across his chest and a bewildered expression on his face. Finally he rolled his eyes and waved a hand. 

“Yeah, fine, whatever. Your excuses are bullshit, but I get the ‘no lake’ thing.” he eyed the metal box again. “Just fix the water soon, okay? It’s stopping a lot of things I want to get on with.”

Sam nodded solemnly, and deliberately didn’t look at Castiel. “I will do my very best. So.. uh… how’s the head doing? That mark is still really vivid. Sure you don’t want someone to take a look at it?”

Dean dismissed that easily. “It’ll be fine. Just looks dramatic.”

“How did it happen, anyway?” Sam asked casually. “Looks like you hit something really solid.”

Dean offered another little dismissal, this time just a shrug and a bored look that suggested he wasn’t going to offer up suggestions. Sam and Castiel exchanged glances, a look that wasn’t overlooked by Dean. 

“Okay, cut it out. I’m fine. Really. Cross my heart and hope to die. Although it’s nice you’re worried,” he leaned up and pressed a little kiss to Castiel’s cheek fondly. “I’m gonna go get my coat. You finish up here, okay?”

“Okay.” Castiel watched him re-enter the house before turning back to a desperately trying not to smile Sam. “Don’t.”

“You have to confess, it’s kinda adorable.” Sam murmured. Castiel fixed him an unimpressed look.

“You’re having fun.”

“A bit.”

Castiel scowled at him for a moment before shaking his head and deliberately changing the subject. “I need to look at where he fell to see whether there’s anything that’s caused this. There’s supposed to be a ceremony tomorrow.”

“I can search for anything odd when I check the pipes and the water. There should be service pipes all over the site with a place like this.” Sam suggested. Castiel reviewed that and gave a small nod.

“It sounds like a plan.”

“There’s a plan?” That was Dean again, who was still king of popping back when he wasn’t anticipated. 

“I … I thought we could go for a walk.”

Dean thought about that and snorted softly. “That’s probably the most boring plan I’ve heard of.”

“It’s in the woods. Probably secluded,” Sam suggested happily. Castiel shot him another look, harder and with more metal. Sam did not care. 

“You are not helping.”

“Sorry.”

“And you are not sorry either,” Castiel pointed out through gritted teeth. Sam chuckled to himself and folded his arms.

“So did you guys find out any more about the bandstand?” he asked idly.

They looked at Sam blankly. Sam stared back at them, and then held up his phone showing the last text from Dean. Castiel studied the image, and then looked at Dean who shrugged his lack of knowledge.

“They didn’t say they found him at a bandstand,” Castiel said slowly. “But I believe they mentioned he was semi-conscious and moving by himself for a short time. There’s a possibility that he could have walked a short distance away.”

“So you’re assuming something happened there because it’s .. old?” Dean looked at the photo critically before handing it back to Sam. “Based on what?”

“Generally experience.” Sam sighed. “It’s just weird, that’s all.”

“Guys, if you start investigating everything that’s weird then you’d never stop.” Dean pointed out. “But nah, I don’t know about it.”

“No one has mentioned it either.” Castiel said slowly. “And I have asked a lot of questions,”

“But you didn’t ask about the bandstand?” Sam frowned.

“In my defence, I didn’t know I was supposed to ask about a bandstand. It falls under the same reasoning as not asking about a whirlpool.” Castiel ‘s voice was faintly exasperated. 

“Perhaps ye olde style bandstands aren’t weird around here,” Dean stretched, completely unconcerned by the situation, before slipping his hand back into Castiel’s again. The angel felt his cheeks redden slightly before coughing and forcing himself to focus again. Sam hid a small, fond smile and looked down at the phone. 

“Look, Cas and I can go have a walk around for bandstands if you’re really, really interested.” Dean glanced at the angel, who hadn’t really recovered. “Right, Cas?”

Cas hesitated. It was true they were supposed to walk around the wood, but if the bandstand had caused Dean’s issue then bringing him back to the location seemed foolhardy, walking in a tiger’s lair whilst covered in ketchup. He looked at Sam who studied the photo again.

“Did you say you had some sort of ceremony tomorrow?” Sam said slowly. “In the woods? Where this is likely to have been taken?”

It sounded even more foolhardy, with a side plate of idiot. 

“Probably.” Dean was clearly bored with the situation. “Who cares, anyway? I probably just tripped over my laces and banged my head. That’s going to be hard to repeat with a lot of people around.”

If only Castiel was quite so confident. The angel exchanged glances with Sam again. Still, it was the middle of the day and there were many people. If there was something supernatural then it would need to be either very brazen or the entire community was in on it.

“Well,” Sam said brightly, like a kids tv presenter. “You guys have a quick walk and I’ll do what I can to fix your water system. Meet back here in … half an hour? Forty five minutes?”

Dean scowled. “You think mom would like you trying to take her place?”

Sam’s face was unreadable. “Dean…,” there was a long pause then a sigh. “Yeah. Fine. This isn’t a check up-,” It clearly was but Castiel appreciated the reason for the lie. “ - this is for practical grounds. Doubt the community is going to want me around too much without someone in the group.”

“We will be back in forty five minutes at the latest,” Castiel replied solemnly. Dean made a soft strangled noise in the back of his throat that signified his irritation with the cotton wool culture he was having to put up with, gripped Castiel’s hand a little harder and gave him a not unsubtle tug toward the path.

It was forty five minutes. What could happen?

*

At first Dean was generally annoyed. Time restraints?! They actually followed the crazy ass instructions that his crazy ass brother decided to dictate. Seriously, who died and made Sam the leader? Who got worried about _bandstands_?! The days of worrying about things that went bump in the night was supposed to be over.

And then things got more difficult, and Sam was pushed down the list of priorities.

It had started pretty good, if irritating. Cas was almost more attentive than normal, as though genuinely expecting him to go head over heels from some slip and trip, and if it wasn’t pretty adorable Dean would be getting really fed up right about now. He wasn’t some kid they had to watch! The only good thing was that Cas’ hand never strayed from his, a firm anchor protecting him from whatever beasties Cas and Sam had created in their minds, and Dean wasn’t planning to object.

The day got worse when they followed the slim, windy paths through to the centre of the little woodland patch and found the structure in question. And yeah, it was still there, woody, painted cheerfully, with fiddly wooden bits carved into the structure and a well loved surface in the centre. Probably somewhere that people gathered to sing christmas carols or something, Dean could imagine the whole structure having mistletoe and holly hung around it in a festive manner. 

And about as spooky as the average fat hedgehog. 

A quick survey had revealed a big sign on the nearest stairs that announced that no one should enter, and Dean automatically followed that instruction without question. Cas, surprisingly, was another matter. He had prowled around the edges as though surveying it for woodworm, looking suspiciously at anything that looked more carved or funky than normal. He’d even started to go onto the main platform before Dean had insisted that he stop. 

This again caused a point of conflict. Cas wanted to explore. Dean was pretty damned certain they shouldn’t. There were _rules_ , he had explained, and Cas had given him a shocked look as though Dean had grown two heads and various unusual body parts. Dean still had no idea why. Rules were _important_. Couldn’t have a decent society without it. And yet his husband still looked at him as though he was a completely different person.

In the end they had agreed on a compromise. Cas could have a look at some of the wooden structure from underneath, having been able to squeeze through some of the decorative gaps around the edges, and that way Cas could see the ‘historical detailing of the construction’ without actually stepping onto the out of bounds platform. Crazy, sure, but Dean had already accepted the fact that his husband was a little odd. 

Five minutes later and life got odder and significantly more scary.

First of all Dean didn’t know what happened. Casl had crawled under the bandstand until the only parts of him still visible were the sensible shoes that his husband seemed to be wedded to. There had been a sound like an electric bolt had just hit, a strange zap-sizzle-feel it in the bones noise, but Dean couldn’t immediately place where it had come from. The realisation hit only a moment later.

_“Cas!!”_

There had been no call, no indication that his husband was in distress, but Dean’s instincts were correct. Feeling the anxiety bubble within him enough that it felt as though he’d been struck too, Dean had knelt down and looked. He couldn’t see anything that might have caused it but he didn’t want to focus on anything but the slumped figure of Cas on the floor. Dean felt a sharp pain in his heart in fear and immediately leaned in, taking hold of one ankle and pulling with all his strength.

Had to get him out, had to save him-

“Cas? _Cas!_ ”

He was alive, thank fuck he was alive, and Dean paused only to look at the dazed, slightly dirty face of his lover before pulling him into a hard, desperate hug. 

“Dammit, Cas,” 

He was still breathing and there was a soft murmur that sounded as though Cas was trying to wake up. Each little shudder vibrated through Dean, and he hugged him harder, not knowing what else to do. Shit, perhaps bandstands _were_ dangerous! And it wasn’t as though he had any experience of emergencies or injuries or anything else. 

“Dean..,” 

Dean almost collapsed into his own pool of relief at the word. He said Dean. He could talk. That.. well, that had to be good, right? He pressed another desperate kiss against his husband’s temple, breathing in his scent before forcing himself to think of the next steps. Couldn’t stay here, Cas would just get cold and they really needed him to be looked at. Dean stared around him desperately but there were no signs of anyone else, just the sounds of the wind in the trees. No birds sang either, which was kinda weird as they seemed to be really damned loud everywhere else, but they’d probably scared them all off.

“C’mon, Cas. Let’s get you home.” Dean pushed himself to his feet and then knelt, gathering up Cas in his arms to pick him up-

“..no. No. I’m okay..,” Cas’ voice was weak but determined to make its presence. 

“Like fuck you are.” Dean protested, but allowed him to slowly, painfully get to his feet. Not that standing worked for very long; a few seconds later and Cas had sagged again, Dean immediately taking his weight. Weirdly reluctantly, Cas finally slid his arm around Dean’s neck and they slowly, carefully, made their way back to the house.

Cas still seemed to be dazed as Dean carefully placed him on the couch and dropped to a crouch next to him anxiously. C’mon.

“Cas?” Dean searched his eyes worriedly. His husband was still silent, his eyes open but slightly distant as though he was in some type of dreamland. A quick check suggested his breathing was regular and his heartbeat about as steady as Dean’s which probably meant it was vaguely normal. Dean tried snapping his fingers in front of Cas’ face which failed to produce any type of response, and then, gently, reluctantly, giving him a poke in the leg with his fingers. Still nothing.

“Dean?” His name, but coming from the wrong man and the wrong direction. Dean gritted his teeth and focused on Cas, but Sam drew closer, wiping his dirty hands on some sort of cloth as he did so. Sam stared at Cas and then back at Dean. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s an accurate statement of what Cas is currently doing, but not a particularly good assessment of _what happened_.” Sam stared at Cas critically, and reached across to touch him. Dean all but hissed, a noise he didn’t even know he could make and glared across at the pain in the ass that represented his brother. For fuck sake, they wouldn’t have even tried to go near the damned bandstand if he hadn’t suggested it! 

“Stop. I’ve got this handled.” Hard, angry, resolute. Sam stopped but his expression grew darker as he looked back at him.

“Is he hurt?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, how about we make _sure_ -” Sam’s voice was clipped but Dean wasn’t having any of that. This was _Sam’s_ fault. The sooner his brother went away and left them to the community the better.

“Or how about you fuck off and leave me with my husband?” Dean snapped back. “We don’t need you, Sam. We’ll be fine.”

“Of course you will.” Sam folded his arms. “Shame the whole head injury didn’t get rid of the inner asshole-,”

“Dean.” 

Cas’ voice cut through the argument like a hot knife through butter. Dean didn’t even bother giving Sam a scowl as his attention immediately shifted to Cas, one hand raising to gently cup Cas’ cheek tenderly. 

“Hey. You back with me?” Dean said softly, and was so damned relieved to see those vivid blue eyes moved to study him with the intensity he remembered. So good. Cas’ eyes narrowed again in thought and then there was a soft noise of acknowledgement, although Dean noted the fact that his husband was still sitting bolt upright as though glued in place.

“Yes.” His voice was a little raspy. “I … I believe I am okay.”

“What happened?” Sam spoke up, and Dean shot him a filthy look. Could he not see that Cas needed some time to recover before asking idiotic questions? Cas made another soft noise and finally shifted his body weight.

“A minor accident.” Cas’ voice was still distant, but he was slowly coming back to life and Dean smiled in relief. “I probably touched something I shouldn’t. Perhaps an electrical wire.”

“For lights? Yeah, probably. It sounded like a zap.” Dean began to check over Cas’ hands and arms for any sign of injury, and was pleased to note they seemed to be as clear as they had been before. “You look okay, no entry wounds or anything. Any aches?”

“I do ache.” Cas confirmed. “My head is .. fuzzy.”

“Fuzzy?” Sam asked carefully. 

“Fuzzy. But I do not feel any different.” Cas lifted his gaze to Sam and held it a little too long as far as Dean was concerned. Sam made a soft grunt of acknowledgement, and tightened his folded arms.

“See?” Dean looked up at Sam triumphantly. “He’s fine. You want to go away now?”

Cas closed his eyes painfully. “Dean, please stop. He is your brother-,”

“-he’s a fucking pain in the ass is what he is,” Dean snapped back. Cas continued as though he hadn’t heard.

“-and you have looked after him since he was a baby through very hard times. You have a strong bond, and this devotion is one of the reasons I value you as much as I do. Please, do not put it at risk,” 

Sam looked slightly more mollified. Dean growled softly. He tried to remember looking after Sam since they were kids, but his memory just wasn’t liking it. And it hurt. Thinking about anything in the past hurt really bad, and Dean shook his head trying to clear it. The only thing that didn’t really hurt when it came to Sam was the knowledge that the man was a distinct annoyance. He cast a little look at Sam again, trying and failing to find the bond. 

“Mgm.” he said instead, but didn’t push it. If he kept his gaze away from Sam then things hurt less. That worked. 

“Well, at least you haven’t lost your memory.” Sam still kept a little distance back, and that .. well, that was appreciated. Sam too close to Cas definitely did bad things to Dean’s comfort level, and that was probably weird. Even weirder that it was only through logic that he had come to that conclusion rather than observation. 

“Did you see where the ..uh, damaged wire was?” Sam continued. “Sometimes there’s marks surrounding it to show whether it’s live or earthed or where the services are..,”

Sam seemed really determined about his damned symbols, but that was fine. Dean ran his hand through his hair and turned his attention back to Cas. His hand rested on his husband’s leg gently, hoping to soothe him as much as possible. Cas giving him a small fond smile in response made him ridiculously happy, enough so that Dean wasn’t too annoyed when Cas was forced to think about rogue wires again.

“There were a few marks, very ordinary,” he said slowly. “Do you have a pad of paper? If there is a wire then we would not want the rest of the community to be .. uh, zapped.”

A piece of paper was produced, plus a pencil. Dean kept quiet as Cas scribbled something down, and gave the folded piece of paper to Sam who added it to a pocket without opening it.

“Well, I’ll go study the info tonight and get back to you if I think it’s something I can fix. In the meantime, get some rest, huh?” Sam glanced at Cas and then, carefully, back at Dean. “And that kinda goes for you too, Dean. You’ve had a rough couple of days. Don’t push things, okay?”

Dean bristled but the words seemed to be genuine. He gave a little reluctant nod, and watched as his brother began to walk toward the door.

“Did you fix it?” he asked.

“Fix what?”

“The water? The thing you two got so intense about?”

“Oh. Oh! Yeah, it’s done. All working.” Sam offered another smile and vanished off to leave them with a very uncertain evening.

But at least they could shower, Dean guessed.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel had suffered many things through his time on heaven and earth, but he had never once thought spending time with Dean would ever form part of that list of torture. In theory, the whole of the evening was an easy, relaxing situation. His head had returned to normal and Dean seemed happy once again, trotting around the house and trying to feed him things. Nothing threatened them, the neighbourhood was safe and welcoming, and he had been wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa by a gently fussing Dean.

It was a lovely situation.

And it was all lies.

The deception was beginning to weigh heavily on him. The original concept had been both a surprise and contained a little worry - perhaps his mannerisms would be off putting to Dean, or perhaps he would take these emotional touches too far and cause discomfort - but Sam had assured him privately that Dean was ‘so damned oblivious to the things in front of his nose that there was no risk of subtle behaviours having any effect’. Either way, Dean was aware of the intentional deception.

And now, of course, he was not. 

Castiel raised his head and watched his friend walk around the room with the happy, casual smile of someone who was deeply satisfied with his current life. He could not remember the last time he’d seen Dean that carefree, or at least not without some type of alcohol in his hand at the time. His eyes were soft and warm, his concern about Castiel’s well being genuine, and his enthusiasm for their union was … ardent. 

He was beautiful and yet definitely not his, despite Dean’s insistence and Castiel’s longing. The angel sighed wistfully. Yes, it would almost certainly prove to be a long evening.

Dean returned back to him carrying a small plate of food and a mug of hot chocolate, carefully easing himself onto the sofa beside him and pecking a light kiss on Castiel’s cheek before offering the small plate of what appeared to be impractically tiny sandwiches.

“Snack?” 

Castiel was aware of the warm solid form of Dean’s body pressed against his own. Even if he had any appetite, it would have gone in that moment. He sighed and shook his head.

“No thank you, Dean.” 

“Mm. Getting worried about you. You need to eat at _some_ point.” Dean eyed him. “You on a diet or something?”

“You could say that,” Castiel said truthfully. “How are you feeling?”

“Me? You’re the one who got shot full of electricity!” Dean studied him carefully but seemed satisfied by what he saw. Another kiss followed the first, before Dean got into the very serious business of munching sandwiches. 

“Did you make the sandwiches?” Castiel found himself asking. They did not look very Dean like, if nothing more than size.

“Mm? Oh, no, there was a basket of stuff outside the door because we missed dinner. There were some pastry things as well, and some fruit, and some cold meat, and some chicken wings, and something green and salady.” Dean looked pleased, which at least was a very Dean thing to be when someone gave him free food.

“That was very kind of the community.” Castiel said slowly.

“Yeah, isn’t it? I’m telling you Cas, this place is a real find. They’re so supportive. It’s like they’re watching over us.”

“It does feel like that sometimes,” Castiel agreed, although his viewpoint was less enthusiastic than his husband’s.

He closed his eyes. His _friend’s_. No matter how long this went on for, no matter how much Dean said it, they were friends and friends only. In a way this polite, domestic setting was worse than the sexual exploration that Dean had so desperately wanted to try; physically intimate activities could find reasons to put them on hold. Little touches and gestures of affection were automatic and spoke to areas of Castiel’s mind that he hadn’t been aware even existed.

“How is it?” Dean said softly. Castiel turned his head to discover a very gentle, concerned look aimed at him. “Headache?”

Close enough. “A bit.”

“We could go to bed early if you wanted,” Dean suggested, and the concern was so devoted that it was almost physically painful. “Get you tucked in, pillow behind your head, just let you rest up. We’ve got lots of time to settle in, yeah?”

All the time in the world, as long as it was within the next day or so. Castiel watched him silently. What would Dean make of the confession? Even if he were to rediscover his memories, it would not remove the ones that they had shared. Would he feel deceived? Embarrassed? Angry? This was not how a friend should act, and Castiel did not even want to think of the potential consequences should Dean discover his fondness for him.

“Indeed,” he said instead, and was suddenly taken aback as Dean placed his cup of cocoa down and cuddled up to him.

“You look so serious! It’s okay, baby. We’re home. This is it.”

It felt like an angel blade had plunged into his heart and decided to wiggle around. Castiel made another non-committed noise, and forced himself to remember that the community was almost certainly watching. He carefully placed an arm around Dean’s shoulders and brought him closer, and the happy little sigh of contentment and trust that escaped was both one of the most beautiful and horrific things he’d ever heard.

“We’re home.” Dean mumbled again, his head resting on Castiel’s chest and his eyes already closed. The angel could sense exactly when the man slipped into a light slumber, the way that his muscles relaxed even further and his head dropping against Castiel’s collarbone comfortably. 

And for a little while there was no movement. The sandwiches stayed on their little plate. The hot chocolate cooled on the side, a rogue marshmallow still gamely floating. The occasional sound of passersby on the road outside, a laugh, a vehicle, the call of an owl in the nearby trees. Castiel’s arm still curled around Dean as though it might in some way protect him against a situation that Dean didn’t even know was occurring. And Castiel watched him, carefully, conscientiously, a moral battle fighting within him as he surveyed the boyish features of his ‘husband’, the dark eyelashes against his pale but slightly muddy cheek, the occasional freckle, the innocence that shone through whenever Dean wasn’t fighting.

Once upon a time Castiel had considered Dean saved. As time had gone on, he had a growing suspicion he had simply extended Dean’s torture into a different route. 

Castiel released his breath slowly and stared ahead of him, his arm tightening around his false lover. There was no question that Dean had been affected by whatever magic had hit him; Sam had not yet phoned through with the results of the runes that Castiel had found carved in the wooden bones of the bandstand - bones with a deadly ward to remove people who strayed too closely, although not deadly enough to defeat an angel - but fundamentally Dean still seemed to be Dean, only with certain aspects heightened. The paranoia and hatred that Dean seemed to hold for his past life, including Sam, had been replicated in many of the community folk he had spoken to, an inbuilt need to remain with the community against the outside world and a new emphasis on the rules. But the remainder of Dean? How much of his sudden desire was genuine and how much was manipulated?

He didn’t know but so badly wanted to. He was also afraid to find out.

Ultimately, his speculations couldn’t help. Dean would wake in the morning and be keen to cuddle further, to kiss, to do all the things that Castiel had always wondered what it would be like to do with Dean. Asking him would only discover what Dean’s current mind believed was true, and the consequences of any wrong move could be catastrophic.

And yet…

And yet.

Castiel sighed wearily and closed his eyes to the welcome darkness. It was no wonder that humans spent so much of their time trying to distract themselves from reality, whether that be activities or films or stories or mediation. Emotions were painful. Connections were excruciating. Dreams seemed to be held up as a positive aspect but Castiel had not often seen the benefits; all dreams seemed to do was outline in detail what had not yet occurred and probably would never be. 

How humans managed to live like this was a testament to their strength and stubborn determination. And, to a certain extent, to their faintly masochist nature. This was _normal_ to them. They wrote songs to it, stories, histories revolving around this emotional anguish, occasionally even spoke fondly of it. In many ways it was brave. 

In many others it was insane.

His own brand of adorable insanity squirmed in his sleep, shifting his weight before settling again with a soft, sleepy moan. Castiel found the smile on his lips before he was even aware of making it. It was certainly wrong to feel so strongly about a human, but then out of all the wrong things he had done over the many years Castiel felt this was one that he was satisfied to do. But then even that was a poor interpretation of what could be, full of what ifs and could haves and regret for not taking the moment.

Castiel sighed softly. 

And yet.

Castiel leaned across and gently pressed a light kiss onto Dean’s hair, a bare touch. No, Dean was never supposed to mean this much to him, but then again few things had ever actually resulted in what he expected. The only thing he could do was the same thing he did every night; do what he thought was right and then see where it took him. 

It was guaranteed that heaven would not be watching over him, but occasionally, just occasionally Castiel would have enjoyed the pretence that it was.

*

Morning brought with it it’s own share of problems. One of those was the clear statement that Dean was a snuggler. 

Hand slid over the firmness of his stomach, Dean nuzzling into Castiel’s neck as he curled up closer. He could feel the heat of the man’s arousal press against his hip, conscious of his own body’s response that was equally, hard, hot and desperate. It was a hard situation to be in, and no amount of gentle cuddling would help.

“Cas… did I do something wrong before the accident?” Dean murmured finally, his hand falling away. “Cause you’re really fighting this.”

“You didn’t.” Castiel hesitated. “It’s a .. me thing.”

“A ‘you’ thing.” Dean repeated. “Gonna talk about it?”

“I wasn’t planning on it, no.”

There was a strangled noise of annoyance from Dean who rested his forehead against Cas’ shoulder for a moment.

“Goddamnit, Cas, how can I fix it if I don’t even know what’s going on? Whatever it is, whatever it was, I forgive you. If you can forgive me for whatever it was too, then we’re okay, right?” Dean lifted his head and looked at him hopefully. 

“I wish it was that easy,” Castiel felt like the worst friend possible and tried to ignore how much the man slumped next to him. “You can’t make a decision without information.”

“And you’re not planning to _give_ me information, so what am I supposed to do here?!” Dean grumbled, rolling onto his back but keeping his body pressed up against Castiel’s form as though they were glued in place. One of Dean’s hands was touching lightly against the angel’s thigh, and that delicate touch alone was enough for a shiver of pleasure to run down his body. 

“When your memory returns-,”

“And if it _doesn’t_?” Dean rolled onto his side and propped up his head on his hand. “Cas, I don’t need my memory to know I love you. Isn’t that enough? You love me too, right?”

Even Lucifer couldn’t have designed a better torture. Castiel stared upward for a moment, as though the ceiling might in some way offer him some escape from the uncomfortably personal conversation they were having. Did he love him? His strength, his loyalty, his energy… how could he not? Castiel had fallen for his soul long before anything else.

“I do.” he said, honestly and truthfully. “More than you will know.”

“And if you were confident there wasn’t anything weird happening? You’d want to do things?”

“Within a heartbeat.” Another truthful answer.

Dean brightened, his hand moving from Cas’ leg to grip one of his hands. “Then fuck it. The rest doesn’t matter, Cas.”

“It matters to me.” Castiel replied, also truthfully. His body disagreed entirely with the thought, of course. He was so hard that he ached, the light blanket over him enough to send torturous sensations through his body as it brushed against the sensitivity of his cock. There was a soft groan from Dean but he leaned across and pressed another little soft kiss to Cas’ neck.

“Yeah, okay. But we talk about this after the ceremony today, right?”

Castiel had never seen Dean so eager to talk about anything emotional. Ordinarily this was the time when the man found a reason to go out for a long drive, or drink, or discover a fight somewhere. It was not a bad change by any means, but when you were desperately trying to avoid the situation there was something to be said for distractions.

“Agreed.” 

After all, if they hadn’t resolved it by the ceremony, Castiel suspected they would have a lot to discuss.

*

Sam called in the middle of the day when Dean had vanished off for food. Castiel made sure he was near the noisiest thing in the house, which appeared to be a very old style of microwave with a ‘whirr’ background noise. It wasn’t much, but every little helped.

“Hey, Cas. Everything okay? How are you feeling?”

“Sam. Generally, yes.” Castiel leaned onto the nearby counter and allowed his eyes to drift to the front door. “Have you had a productive evening?”

“I have, as it happens. So get this,” there was the soft sound of pages turning from the other side. “Those symbols for the electricity?”

Castiel paused to remember the cover story. Oh yes. Electrical markings. 

“Turns out that they’re pretty old but still active. Someone must be managing them,” Sam said carefully. “So if we took out any wiring, we’d have to make sure that no one is putting them back in again. You know. For safety.”

“I see,” Castiel said gravely, and really, really hoped he did. Ordinarily Dean was better at translating Sam’s phrases and meanings, especially when they were small insults. Still, it seemed clear enough. The symbols were some type of occult marking, which were still live. They could be removed in some fashion - Castiel was already considering the most appropriate ways to break such a thing - but someone in the community had purposefully placed them there. To resolve the task would need the destruction of the symbols and the removal of whoever it was guarding them.

Relatively simple. Or at least, he hoped. The most simple things normally ended up being the most difficult, or dangerous, or both.

“Do you think that Dean might have been hit by the electrical surge? That it caused his memory loss?” Castiel queried.

“I’d be willing to put money on it if it’s the surge I think it is.”

“Why would you balance money on a surge?” Humans were perplexing. There was a soft laugh from the other end of the phone.

“It means I’d bet on it, Cas. Don’t worry, this isn’t some weird coin based game of Jenga.” 

It made it no less clear, but it sounded like it was unimportant. Essentially the answer was ‘yes, very likely’, and that gave him hope that the memories weren’t all lost. 

“And do you think you might know of the origins of the electrical power?”

“Yeah. Some of the markings are linked to a few specific power companies.” Sam replied, the confirmation that at least the creature or god or whatever had been identified. Castiel all but sagged with relief. Knowing your enemy might not immediately lead to success, but at least it gave them a starting point.

“Good to know.” he said solemnly. “Will you be joining us today?”

“I was thinking of coming over, having a chat to people, see who knows who put in the system.” Sam said, a little too casual. Castiel understood this to mean that the younger Winchester was going to come fully armed with various witch or other supernatural entity killing items, which was also perfectly reasonable.

“Understood. Dean and I will be at the ceremony,” Castiel did not know how to imply that he was planning to destroy the bandstand, but he suspected Sam would assume explosions anyway. He hesitated. “I .. uh, may need to keep him away from you. He is still..,”

“..he’s still got his head shoved up his ass, got it,” Sam said drily. “Yeah, okay, Cas. I can’t say I currently want to be around him either. Sometimes he really reminds me of Dad.”

“... I am sorry.”

“What for?” Sam sounded perplexed.

“I should have watched him more thoroughly-,”

“Oh, for christ sake, Cas, we both know what Dean’s like.” Perplexed had moved to amusement. “He’s going to get himself in trouble short of tying him to a chair in a locked dungeon. And even then, he’d just get into a different sort of trouble. You’re not his keeper.”

Castiel made a soft noise but it did not aid his guilt.

“Anyway, you’re working on getting him back to normal. It’s all okay, Cas, I promise.” Sam’s voice had softened. The guilt hesitated for a moment.

“Mm,” 

“Anyway, speak to you later. Take care with the ceremony. Might be small, but you never know what’s likely to come out of the woodwork.”

Was that another hint or was it just the human saying? Castiel wasn’t entirely sure but he was planning to keep an eye on all manner of woodwork just in case. He was still frowning at the phone when Dean came through the door with another basket of random foodstuffs. Castiel did not have many stories to draw from but this sounded remarkably like the witch in Hazel and Gretel. Or perhaps the Red Riding hood story, with Dean as the girl.

Did that make him the wolf? He hoped not.

“You okay? You look deep in thought,” Dean moved the basket to the table and paused to press a light kiss to Castiel’s cheek before beginning to take out various foods. “Cas! Snap out of it, we have lunch.”

Lunch proved to be a continuation of odd things, including more greenery that Dean seemed to be perfectly content with. Castiel eyed him. It was not a bad thing for Dean to obtain a taste for healthier foods, but the sudden change did not settle his nerves. 

“Tomato?” Dean offered a small bowl. Castiel had no idea Dean ate tomatoes unless they were squashed and mixed with a lot of sugar and species and called itself ketchup. 

“No thank you, Dean.” he said. “In fact, I have something I’d like you to try.”

Dean looked interested. “Yeah?”

“Food based.” Castiel hastily added.

“Cas, I’m not _that_ sex driven.”

“Debatable.” Castiel moved to place a plate and a fork in front of him. “Eat.”

Dean looked down. “It’s a pie. I’m not sure-,”

Castiel moved across to take the fork and spear a piece of pie carefully, before aiming it toward Dean. “ _Eat_.”

“Well - omphfh,” Dean got over the shock of a mouthful suddenly thrust upon him and began to chew. “Okay, are you happy no… fucking hell, this is _GOOD_ ”

“Good. Although please don’t inhale it-,”

“No, seriously, this is _REALLY, REALLY GOOD_ ”

Castiel sighed happily as Dean stole the rest of the pie slice and began to demolish it with all the desperation of someone who had been forced to eat nothing but kale for the last week. 

Okay. Perhaps not all was lost after all.

*

Finally, _finally_ it was time. Dusk was upon them and Dean was already delighted with how it was going.

Had there ever been a better sight than this? Dean hadn’t known what to expect with the celebration but everything had worked out easily. The households gathered, a soft excited murmur as they waited for the light to fade, before the leader of the community began to walk ahead into the wooded area and along the small paths. No words were needed. The community followed him without instruction, a long chain of willing people that wound their way through the trees like ants.

Dean and Cas had been guided to the middle of the column, protected either end by other community members that smiled at them as they gently showed them where to go. Some of the community held old fashioned rectangular lanterns, their lights flickering as the group walked, and others carried red streamer like flags that flickered prettily in the breeze. 

Everywhere Dean looked were animated faces, their eyes twinkling in the lights. He grinned to himself and his hand automatically reached for Cas’, squeezing it happily. He noticed that Cas didn’t let said hand go afterward, but Dean wasn’t about to complain about that. Sure, they haven’t yet been able to do the rolling around in the bed that he’d hoped for, but Cas _had_ been electrocuted and these little romantic gestures were adorable anyway.

“I need you to stay close to me tonight,” Cas had murmured in his ear, and Dean had given him a fond look back for his protectiveness. It wasn’t as though he actually needed to be protected - they weren’t exactly going to be jumped on by a bear, for god’s sake - but sometimes it was just nice having someone being that concerned.

Anyway, he wasn’t going far. This celebration needed family together, and Cas was his.

Cas, on the other hand, seemed tense. Well, tenser, anyway. The man’s natural inclination seemed to be wary, a little furrowed brow as though continually confused over the situation, but Dean loved that about him. His focus. His determination. His solemness and dry humour. A group like this probably was going to ruffle his feathers, but then this was the Community and Dean was pretty sure Cas would relax soon. After all, all the community wanted was for them to settle. 

The only thing they’d disagreed on was the phone that Cas had secreted in a pocket. Dean was mildly scandalised - this was not the time for distractions! - but Cas had insisted in such a way that Dean had given up. At least he was confident that Cas’ manners would stop him from using it at an inappropriate time.

The column had finally led to the bandstand, and Dean felt Cas’ hand tense. He winced internally. Okay, that was probably fair. Getting zapped with electricity wasn’t something you were going to forget.

“It’s okay.” Dean murmured to him. “I’ve got you.”

He squeezed Cas’ hand again and looked at his eyes hopefully, but Cas’ expression was unreadable. Dean was about to say something further when the leaders moved to the bandstand and one stepped forward. The crowd surrounded the bandstand expectantly, filling every little spot that they could as they watched.

Not that this was surprising. Dean found he couldn’t turn his gaze away from the man dressed in what seemed to be dark blue robes, his hands raised and his gaze staring over the heads of the congregation surrounding him to an unknown spot in the trees. Any murmurings had died away to silence now, a few lights flickering in the woods as they watched and waited.

Finally the man began to speak, a low, solemn voice that still managed to drift clearly across the space. Dean didn’t understand the words - were they latin? He didn’t know - but there was a rhythm to it, a soft, warm chant that he couldn’t draw his attention away from. The rest of the audience and surroundings seemed to fade away, irrelevant in the face of the performance. At some point he’d lost hold of Cas’ hand but that was okay, that was fine, Cas would be nearby and it was all good, very good, and the community was there with him.

The words continued, rhythmic, dancing, warm. Dean could feel his mouth growing drier, a tingle throughout his body as he watched, entranced, unable to look away. The outside of his vision had faded away to darkness but that didn’t matter either, the world was not going away and the lights were dancing and flickering around like fireflies. Despite the fact that there were several rows of people in front of him it felt as though the words were only for him, murmuring, persuading, and Dean strained to hear and feel every word.

Another movement on the bandstand, and Dean watched curiously as an older woman was brought on the stage. Her hair was long and loose and she too had a relaxed expression on her face, hands clasped to her chest and eyes that seemed to care for nothing other than the leader in front of her.

There were more words, louder this time, but the comfort still remained and Dean heard himself laughing somewhere in the distance. The world was still comforting, a bubble around him and they were all together, everyone, joined and one, and he saw the shine of the golden knife as it was raised and heard the words that gently caressed them and watched the lights that flickered and danced and moved around the leader like a light filled ghost and-

-there was a loud noise like a thundercrack, hard, fast and violent. Dean stumbled backward, hitting another person and almost crashing to the floor until a hand grabbed hold of his arm and hoisted him up with violent strength. 

“Dean, _stay here!_ ” Cas’ voice was commanding, his blue eyes even more vivid as he stared at him in concern from inches away. Dean stared at him in confusion, then glanced over his shoulder where the crowds were already moving, some beginning to scream, the leader down with a dark pool slowly appearing near him and there was Sam coming up from the side with what appeared to be something metallic in his hand - a gun? - and the other leader was raising his hands and the bandstand was _glowing_ and-

“DEAN!”

Dean snapped back to him, and despite everything Cas seemed clearer somehow. He licked his lips and gave a shaky nod.

“Yeah. Okay. Go.” he didn’t know where to, but he just knew that Castiel - because that was his full name, wasn’t it? Castiel? - would need to go, would need to do something. Blue eyes watched him for a little longer before Castiel made a soft noise and headed toward Sam.

Dean lifted his own hand shakily and stared at it, before looking around him at the confusion. He still didn’t know what was going on but something in him was screaming at him that this should be familiar, that he should _know_ , that he should automatically be doing something to help-

Help. He could help. He assisted a couple of people who had fallen, just as shaken as he was, and gently eased them toward the path. Dean started to herd more uncertain people away, their confused eyes staring at him unseeingly for a moment before finally heeding his words. One woman was almost in a state of hysterics, talking about a family member she hadn’t spoken to in years, but the words were being address to what appeared to be a bush. Another stared at him wordlessly, as though they’d only just woken up there.

“C’mon, let’s go, let’s go.” It was feeling more natural. Dean was herding, getting people out of the local area, taking control. More and more things came to him, almost like suggestions. An image of salt, for some damned reason. The need to hunt. To go grab .. _something_ out of the trunk of his car. 

Black eyes and circles and transparent forms and teeth and blood-

Dean stumbled and pressed his hand to his forehead as he tried to clear his mind. It was just an avalanche of images, his mind overwhelmed as they came, over and over again, and that was before the _feelings_ came back, a weird mix of anger or grief or sadness or joy or love or boredom, flip flopping throughout each, and he found Sam’s name on the tip of his tongue to shout out, only it wasn’t Sam, it was _Sammy_ and he needed to find him, to check he was okay and -

Dean stopped. 

Castiel.

A cold wash blasted through him, and Dean didn’t want to look any more, wanted to keep these thoughts locked up but he couldn’t force them away. The knowledge that Castiel wasn’t human. 

That he was his friend, and _only_ his friend.

Sam’s voice in his head: _Undercover, Dean. You remember the story, right?_

Dean swallowed through a closing throat, eyes distant and one hand having to steady himself against a tree trunk. He remembered the story. He remembered the pamphlet, and the motel room, and the romantic films to get Cas into the ‘mood’, and the way the angel’s brow furrowed when he tried to make sense of crazy human things, and the way they had all fought together, and heaven, and hell, and Crowley and Bobby and Lucifer, and his mom, and the dark nights and the teeth and the blood and the fighting and the loneliness and the stubbornness and the fear and the -

Ah, fuck. _Fuck!_

“Out.” he said softly, before raising his head and fixing whoever was nearest with a firm glare. “C’mon, everyone _OUT!_ ”

The exodus suddenly gained new legs as Dean Winchester entered the space, gently but firmly pushing those who were stuck in their own memories toward the path and picking up people who had stumbled. Finally the space was clearer and he was already turning back at a run toward the bandstand and Sam when he saw another flash of light, a golden swarm that circled around the top of the bandstand before blinking out of existence with a blast wave that picked him up and slammed him hard into the trees, bouncing off one and ending up in a bush.

Panting, aching, Dean slowly lifted his head to see Sam jump from the bandstand and Castiel step forward, the angel’s eyes glowing as his hands rose-

Damn, his head hurt. Dean’s eyes had drifted shut before he’d realised and he forced them open just as the smell of smoke began to reach him. The fire had already begun to embrace the bandstand, the flames gracefully licking up the wooden panels and casting dancing shadows around them, and Dean watched silently from the bushes as Castiel ran back to the last place that Dean had been standing and began to look frantically around him.

He should shout out. Tell him that he was here, half hidden in leaves, muddy as hell, just as blood stained as he usually was. And yet Dean couldn’t bring himself to do it, not quite yet. Not while he still had a few glimmers of memories from a point when he genuinely believed the fairy tale that the Community had woven around him, when peace wasn’t just a sound associated with the size of pie portions.

Castiel turned around again, scanning the surroundings, and the look of anguish on his face almost made Dean push himself up and announce his presence. Only Sam ran up, his hand on Castiel’s arm and urgent words in his ear, and the angel hesitated. Another pained look around him before Castiel ran after Sam to finish mopping up the mess, and Dean closed his eyes wearily. What was it? Ghost? Demon? Some fucked up ritual shit? Probably didn’t matter much, it all felt the same. And he was probably about as much use to them in his state as a broken devil’s trap.

Dean and Cas Scott was a dream. A complicated dream, a dream with depth and meaning and picket fences, but it was never real in the first place. And the touching-

Dean’s head lowered until his forehead met cool, dark mud, a soft strangled noise in his throat. The touching. The caresses. The kisses. The way they curled up together in bed, the dinners, the cuddles on the sofa and the beauty of Cas’ hand in his. Their words.

And the small flinches from Cas. The uneasy, slightly panicked look in his eye whenever Dean went further. The stiff, tense movement of his body that spoke against the hard erections that the angel had. The carefully chosen phrasing to avoid blowing their cover. The nerves around the community.

That Cas might have wanted _some_ of it was possible - he was a terrible liar most of the time, and Cas’ hang ups were normally different to humanity - but like this? Guilt if he did and guilt if he didn’t. The angel had few choices, and he wouldn’t let them down regardless.

Dean breathed out slowly, forehead still resting on the mud. For one of the first times in his life he hadn’t felt like he was separate to everyone else, that he was _part_ of something. Connected to _someone_. Someone who could tell when he wasn’t okay despite him maintaining he was. Someone who could see through the illusions and deceptions, and just be real around. And yet their whole damned situation was fantasy, forced on his friend.

He pushed himself up from the mud and the leaves and the darkness and wiped the mud from his brow with the back of his arm wearily as Dean stared sightlessly toward the burning bandstand. The wood seemed to be screaming as it burned, popping and crackling as old wood and paint met with heat, and a slow, long song of outrage as it died. Whatever runes it had were long gone, and so was the fantasy.

Sighing, Dean turned and began to trudge back toward the sounds of crowds and the housing. It sounded bad, but then, he probably wasn’t the only one with a fairy tale that wouldn’t hold up to scrutiny.

Ultimately happy ever afters had always been on short supply. This really shouldn’t have been a surprise.

*

The smoke rose into the night sky prettily, but now that the congregation were away from the woods and the bandstand no one seemed to care. Castiel moved between people, snatches of conversations surrounding him; people worried about long forgotten family members, kids that were left behind with whoever, glimpses of old friends and old connections that had been torn away from them for so long. 

Anger. Agony. Fear. Regrets. Worry. Uncertainty. So many emotions milling around, desperately trying to find outlets. 

But that didn’t matter right at that point. He couldn’t see Dean. Where was he? The angel picked up speed, dodging around small groups, trying to spot Dean’s familiar green coat amongst the congregation and feeling the fear rise in his throat as he did so. Nothing. 

_Where was he?_

Castiel pushed himself into a run and headed back to the house. Perhaps Dean was hunting for Sam. Perhaps his mind had become confused. Perhaps- perhaps a lot of things, and most of them unpleasant. The knowledge that others in the community were under so much strain did nothing but add to his concerns. Would Dean have run? Would he have fallen? He didn’t know. He _needed_ to know. 

The angel shoved the door open so roughly that it almost flew off its hinges, marching into the living room and looking around anxiously.

He was about to call out when he caught sight of the bedroom out of the corner of his eye, including a familiar figure sitting quietly on the bed with his hands clasped between his knees. Dean. _Dean_. Relief flooded through him and Castiel opened his mouth to speak when the realisation that Dean hadn’t moved hit him. 

The words died in his throat and for a good few moments there was nothing but silence, Dean’s tired, weary eyes looking at him with a steadiness that Castiel was certain he didn’t like. There was mud on his skin, a dried streak of blood, and a distinct disheveled appearance to his clothing, but that was normal for a Winchester. His eyes, however… no.

“Dean..,” Castiel took a step toward him and then paused as Dean failed to even flicker. The comfort of seeing him whole slowly began to slip away. “... Dean?”

Finally Dean moved, his head lifting the tiniest amount and a tiny, tiny smile that seemed to have little to do with humour showing at the corner of his mouth. “I’m not damaged if that’s what you’re worried about. How did it go? You’re both okay?”

Dean’s assessment of his damage level was clearly debatable. There was no question that Dean’s memories had returned, it was etched into his posture and the lines on his face. His eyes held a strange hauntedness to them that spoke of endless mental calculations occurring somewhere, and Castiel felt another twist in his gut deep inside himself. 

But he had to be steady. 

Castiel took another step toward him cautiously, Dean watching him approach.

“One leader is dead and Sam has the other,” Castiel said carefully. “And the bandstand has burned to the ground. The haunting has gone, Dean.”

Another small flicker. “Well, yay for us.”

More silence added to an already full room. Castiel was at a loss. Should he offer support? A hug? Leave and let Sam come to pick up the pieces of his lost brother? He knew exactly what he wished to do, but wants were not always the same as shoulds. 

The angel licked his lips and tried again.

“Dean, how much do you remember?”

That strange flicker of a knowing smile again that battled against the weary, slightly dead look in his eyes.

“You mean of our marriage?” Dean said softly, oh so very softly, and Castiel found himself briefly lost for words. Of course he remembered. They all remembered. Only memories weren’t necessarily the best things that could ever happen to people, the truth being a noble thing to strive toward with no consideration of the potential pain.

The guilt rose up within him again. He should have done more. He should have _tried_.

“Dean..,” Castiel began and failed to find a finishing sentence already. He sighed and looked down, shaking his head. “... I am sorry. I tried to keep things .. safe, but I was conscious of the surveillance.”

And even now as he was saying it he was aware of how poor the excuse sounded. They could have done _something_ , even with Dean’s aggressiveness against Sam and-

“Cas, stop,” Dean finally moved, leaning back and his voice softer in what seemed to be understanding. “I know. I remember that bit as well.”

More silence. They had extensive supplies.

“I am sorry.” Castiel said again.

“ _Stop being sorry_ ,” Dean said, a little sharper, before his voice softened again. “Jesus. How often is it that we have something that _isn’t_ fucked up in some way?” 

Another pause.

“Cas, it’s okay. Stop looking at me as though you’re worried I’m going to stab you.” Dean added. Only it wasn’t himself Castiel was worried about getting stabbed. The lines on Dean’s face spoke of his tiredness, and the cheerful, carefree expression had long departed, leaving only a what if and a should be once again.

“It wasn’t like that,” Castiel said but Dean wasn’t listening, eyes growing distant again.

“You want to know the stupid thing? I was .. happy. No stress, no fears, everything just .. you know. Actually as they’re supposed to be. I had y-.,” Dean’s eyes flickered to Castiel for a moment, clearly debating on what the ending to that sentence, before looking away again. “... I had plans to become the community mechanic, car fixing, that sort of thing. No monsters under the bed. No troubles from heaven or hell. No freaky fuck ups, not that I could remember any of those. Just you, me, house and Sam popping in. How fucking stupid was I?” 

Dean rubbed his forehead with the ball of his hand before allowing the hand to fall away tiredly. “No wonder they take your memory, anything like that is always a red flag that some bad shit is about.”

And this was swiftly entering into a situation that Castiel had no idea how to fix, or even where to start. He could feel Dean’s pain, his uncertainty, his anger that was so typically Dean, but had no idea where even to start in order to reassure him. Words seemed ineffectual, although Castiel was quite certain that the wrong words would be equally catastrophic.

And there was Dean, sitting in the middle, forlorn and lost and uncertain. It turned out that a physical angel blade was not always required for a significant cut to the heart.

“Dean-,”

“Cas, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to.” a small glance in his direction and the shame seemed so solid already.

Castiel frowned and reduced the distance again, trying to analyse Dean’s words a little clearer. Only he knew, they both knew. The conversation had no corner where awkwardness was not invited.

“Dean, you have nothing to be sorry for.” Castiel heard his voice getting fiercer rather than the soft, soothing tones he’d imagined, but his own fear was slowly choking its hold over the situation. “You responded to the situation as you knew it. You should have no guilt.”

“No guilt?!” Dean almost laughed, an incredulous look up at Castiel, and finally the angel was beginning to detect ‘his’ Dean in there, the Dean with the fire in his belly and a fight in his eyes whether that be demons or an unpaid library book. “Goddamit Cas, I remember what I did! What I ..,”

A hand was waved awkwardly toward Castiel’s midsection. The angel frowned a little harder in honest confusion.

“As do I. And there is nothing to apologise for.”

Weary green eyes studied him as though suspecting he was on some type of illicit street drug. 

“I _touched_ you.” Dean pointed out slowly and deliberately, as though touch was synonymous with either rape, murder or mutilate. 

“I touched you back.” Castiel pointed out, still bewildered.

Dean stared at him incredulously and then gave a short, loud laugh that had no relation to humour. “Man, Cas, you are making this _really_ hard.”

“I believe you had the same view for the last few days as well,” Castiel offered, and was slightly taken aback as Dean snorted another laugh and scrubbed his face with a hand. Finally he let it fall away as Dean lifted his head to study the angel still stood in front of him.

“Dean,” Castiel decided to step in before Dean added to the torment clearly happening in the man’s mind. “I enjoyed our time together. My only concern was that you did not know the truth before acting.”

The tired disbelief was clear in Dean’s eyes without him needing to protest the statement. Further words were clearly needed, but Castiel was increasingly uncertain how to break through. Logic was not working. Emotional pleas seemed unlikely as well. He had witnessed Dean in numerous ‘guilt’ related exercises and the two things that had any real chance of helping were either Sam or sacrifice. Or both. Needless to say, neither were options.

“One of these days your politeness is going to kill you, Cas,” Dean commented and looked like he was about to push himself up from the bed when Castiel raised his head again.

“I would have agreed had you possessed your memories,” The conviction in his voice was strong, but Castiel had no idea whether it would be strong enough. Neither, apparently, did Dean. The man gazed back at him as though faced with a new beast, slowly sinking back to the back in consideration.

“...explain.” he said finally. “I’m clearly being thick.”

“Your invitations. I would have accepted them had I been reassured you fully understood the situation.” Castiel expanded, pushing past the growing suspicion that discussing this was a poor decision as well. There was no guarantee that Dean’s keenness would continue, and sure enough not a muscle moved across the man’s face. 

“Cas.” There was a distinct hesitancy to Dean’s voice. “ Don’t.”

And it was almost certainly too late for that, but this at least was time for an appropriate confession. And, strangely, a small amount of irritation. It was not uncommon for Dean to treat him as though he was an adult shaped child, and although it was sweet on occasion it was also extremely frustrating. Truth be told, he was old and tired. He remembered times of old, different lands, diverse people, laws and rules and behaviours. Perhaps he did not understand things fully, not the ‘human’ way certainly, but that did not immediately relate to knowledge. And he knew what he wanted when it came to Dean. In many ways, it was one of the few clear things left in life.

“And you know I would have, too. So, now you _do_ have those memories and full understanding,” Castiel paused before fixing Dean with a steady look of his own. “… would you still be happy to carry those invitations out or do we forget anything occurred?” 

Another very long silence and a man who looked as though he was approaching his own personal hell of a question. Dean’s eyes flickered toward the doorway nervously, as though concerned that someone might be watching, before turning back to Castiel with the cautious air of one expecting a trap. 

Castiel waited. He would wait for eternity if so wished, but he couldn’t deny a little ball of hope still burning in him.

“I…,” Dean looked at him wretchedly. “.. I don’t know.”

The small ball of hope dampened a little more. Castiel kept his expression as neutral as possible and tilted his head in acknowledgement.

“I see.”

“Don’t. Please. Not that voice.” The plea battled with the force in his voice, the man looking even more uncomfortable than he had before. Dean ran a hand through his hair and stared at the doorway again for a few moments before looking back again beseechingly. “It’s not like that.”

The angel hadn’t been aware that there had been a voice, but the level of dismay in Dean’s was evident. That was not what he had wished. Castiel added a layer of what he hoped was soothing to the mix. 

“It’s okay. I understand.”

Apparently Dean was allergic to this type of soothing as Castiel witnessed another flash of anger in the man’s eyes.

“I fucking doubt it.”

Castiel frowned at him harder. The conversation was getting even harder to follow. “Why?”

“Because …,” Dean stared at him before screwing his eyes closed and lowering his head in frustration. And that Castiel could fully understand. Sometimes life was significantly easier when the Bad Thing was pointed out to be destroyed. Subtleties and areas of grey were as annoying as they were bewildering.

“That is an answer but it’s not a very good one,” Castiel commented. Dean huffed a laugh.

“It’s not supposed to be good. Look, I’m not.. It’s not..,” Dean frowned harder. “I mean..,”

“Dean, I understand,”

“ _No, you don’t!_ ” Dean looked up with a pained expression. “Cas, man, stop saying that, and especially not in that voice that suggests I’ve just sentenced the world to death! I _want_ to, it’s just..,”

Dean trailed off as they both reviewed the last sentence. The little ball of hope found some more fuel. Dean, on the other hand, looked sick, but Castiel was familiar with that type of expression. That was realisation, and it was rare that it was a comfortable thought to dig into. The path of least resistance had significant appeal.

Even more silence. Castiel could see the distance in Dean’s eyes as the man clearly struggled with his thoughts, and decided to sit next to him rather than standing over him like an avenging angel with a flaming sword. The dip of the mattress under his weight moved Dean’s leg next to his own, but that familiar warmth was good, still right, and he was comforted by Dean remaining where he was. From the fact that Dean did not remove his leg it seemed that the feeling was mutual.

For a little while they stared at the doorway as though expecting it to produce some type of show, Dean’s hands now clasped together and balanced a little on his knees as he stared forward sightlessly.

“Cas, I’m really, _really_ good at fucking stuff up.” Dean said finally, and mostly to the doorframe.

“I’m not sure I care.” Castiel commented after a while. “Shouldn’t we try, just in case?”

“What? Instead of likely to damage our relationship we move to 100% guaranteed?” Dean snorted softly. “And if you say anything about never winning if you never take the shot, or jump off a fucking cliff to see if you can fly, or something else that’s normally on a wall in cheerful letters, then I’m going to..,”

“Sulk?”

“Close enough.” But there was a small smile in Dean’s words.

Castiel’s brow furrowed as he tried to work things out in his own mind. Humanity was confusing at the best of times. This seemed to be stepped up 100%.

“But we _have_ tried.” Castiel said. “And it worked. I believe they call it ‘proof of concept’.” 

“So, what? You want us to hug and kiss and say ‘let’s just do it and fuck everything?’” Dean scoffed, a little more animation in his voice.

“You do say that particular thing a lot.” Castiel considered it. “Although when you say ‘fuck everything’-,”

“Not literally.” Dean fell silent until his curiosity got the better of him. “So, what _are_ you suggesting? I mean, I’m not really into guys..,”

Castiel looked at him politely until he flushed. “Are you not?”

Dean restudied his hands with the dedication of a mountain climber approaching the summit. 

“Okay, fine. I might be .. vaguely into the suggestion. But still,” Dean’s voice was rough, and Castiel couldn’t tell whether that was nerves or anger or panic. He’d known enough about Dean now to know that anything outside of the norm was generally frowned upon, especially if it clashed with his father’s viewpoints on how the world was. Sam had often discussed it during drunken evenings when Dean had stormed off after an argument. 

Still, this was exactly the reason why Castiel had not wanted to push anything whilst Dean was unaware of his own feelings toward the matter. It was depressing to see how correct this decision had been.

“In this location, no one would know that we were working outside of the script.” Castiel observed. There was another huff from Dean.

“Sam would.”

“Sam would also not care.”

“He’d never let me live it down.” Dean replied bitterly. Castiel turned his head to look at him curiously, uncertain why the man had such a poor view on his brother. 

“Sam has known about my feelings about you for many months.” the angel said doubtfully. “He was politely enthusiastic but I never had the feeling he was mocking. And why are you looking at me like that?”

“Sam knew all the time?”

“Well, yes.” Castiel looked blank. “He said it was somewhat blatant.”

“Sonofabitch.” Dean muttered. “And he didn’t _tell_ me?!”

“Would you have listened?” Castiel was getting a little lost with the brotherly interaction. “And would you have wanted him to?”

“Well… I guess.” Dean snapped. Only Castiel didn’t mind the anger either. This was his Dean, the man who turned to the only real solution he’d had for most of his life for something that unnerved or threatened him. The anger was not aimed at him, nor even at Sam, but the fear and uncertainty and for that he could appreciate the teeth bearing. 

The silence continued although it was more companionable, a moment to be shared albeit sitting on a large king sized bed rather than the stereotypical park bench with ever hopeful pigeons. Slowly, little by little, Dean seemed to be easing.

“You took to marriage easier than I thought you would.” Castiel commented again. 

“Yeah, well. It was done. Nothing to fight against,” Dean stared down at his hands. “Once I’d got over the shock, it seemed pretty okay, you’re attractive, y’know… stuff, things, yada yada.”

“You are aware you don’t have to fight _everything_ , yes?” 

Dean laughed again.

“Yeah, well, to quote Bon Jovi, you live for the fight when that’s all that you got.” Another pause. “And you’re about to say I’ve got you and Sam, right?”

“Well, that would be accurate.” 

They stared at the doorway again. The doorway did nothing, as doorways were wont to do. There were still sounds of activity from outside, but now they were a little less wholesome, a few arguments, some vehicles moving. What the community would end up as was anyone’s guess.

“Dean…,”

“I’m not good at romance, Cas. I mean, I’m really, _really_ bad at it. Epic levels of bad. Flirting, sure, but nothing that’s actually .. y’know important.” Dean was still staring ahead which was the safest place to look. 

“Dean,”

“And short term stuff.”

“Dean, what is it that you’re actually worried about?”

“Fuck knows. I mean, that _is_ what I’m good at. No damned idea. Sam probably has a theory.” They remained in silence for some time, bonded in their shared bewilderment over the current situation. Of course, Dean’s complexities would be different. Castiel believed it likely that Dean did not fully understand his own answers. The angel, on the other hand, was very firmly certain of what he believed. What he would do after that point was another matter.

After many minutes Dean finally turned his head to look at him. The tiredness was still very clear in his eyes but it was bolstered by a harder, more curious stare.

“So.” said Dean. “You’d accept my .. how did you phrase it? Invitation? Like some posh vampire?”

“Yes, although I would like to stress that I am not a vampire, nor do I wish to emulate them.”

Another lift of Dean’s mouth in amusement. “Duly noted.”

Silence yet again, although this time something had shifted. Castiel fought down the natural inclination to query and watched Dean’s gaze jump from Castiel’s eyes down to his mouth and then back again with the careful expression of one determining a route across a minefield. What was the man considering? The possibilities were endless. And there was very little space between them, a mere whisper away.

Castiel waited. He would have liked to have said calmly but this would have been just as much a lie as their original cover story. His heart felt uncomfortable. His mind seemed both intense and unfocused at the same time, ignoring larger senses in order to target smaller, almost unimportant details; the small flecked buttons on Dean’s shirt. The small laugher lines at the corners of his eyes. The barely there smudge of dirt on Dean’s cheek. But at least it picked up when Dean finally gazed at him with a determined look.

Castiel did not know what the determined look meant, but it seemed important. He was just opening his mouth to query when Dean held up a hand to shush him, offering a small little smile before pushing himself up and heading toward the door.

The little ball of hope discovered an ice-caked layer, only to reignite as Dean took hold of the bedroom door and closed it with a firm slam. The look that turned back to him was a familiar one, one that was more commonly aimed at hellbeasts or creatures of an otherwise dark demeanor, and Castiel found his mouth closing automatically as Dean prowled back toward the bed.

Dean gently but firmly took hold of Castiel’s shirt and tugged him up to stand in front of him, so very, very close.

“Awesome.” the word was whispered, their mouths brushing together with the lightest of touches before Dean pressed on with the fiery determination of one who wasn’t entirely sure whether the path was the most sane one but was willing to push on regardless of which cliff it might drop him off. 

For the moment the path was holding firm.

The kiss moved from light to hard to desperate in a short space of time. Dean cupped Castiel’s face in his hands, controlling and guiding the embrace even as the angel moved to meet him. They were flushed and panting when the kiss broke, an intense look in Dean’s eye that was either frantic or starving as his hands moved from the gentle caress to an obvious attempt to rip off Castiel’s clothes.

It was welcome to see Dean’s desire so plainly spelled out. However, this did not necessarily mean that Dean would be leading all activities. With the truth acknowledged, finally, _finally_ there was an opportunity to try things that Castiel had only thought about. Inappropriate things. Very inappropriate things. And they were glorious.

Castiel caught one of his hands and stared at him steadily. Wide green eyes looked back at the angel’s stern expression before Castiel offered him a twinkling smile and gently but firmly shoved Dean backward so he sprawled across the bed.

“You’re going to wreck my buttons,” Castiel advised as he loosened his tie and pulled it off before making short work of unfastening the fastenings on his shirt. Dean stared at him a moment longer before laughing again and pushing himself up to his knees, eyes gleaming. It took no time at all for Dean to pull off his own clothing, tossing them to one side in a waterfall of fabric before he utilised his hunter prowess to pounce on the angel once again.

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice was faintly chastising, but Dean was clearly past caring and with it had gone the heaviness of guilt. Mouths clashed again, the man’s hand stroking down Castiel’s chest and it felt so very good, a soft groan escaping the angel’s lips as Dean curiously explored with the expression of a small child witnessing something fantastic for the first time. Light fingers traced a line along Castiel’s hardened cock, sliding over an already slick head and then down again to play with his balls. 

The angel let him explore. The fascination of new elements was certainly not unknown to him, and Dean’s protests that he’d not interacted with men looked true enough. Of course, that brought with it other questions and considerations when it came to their current activities, but Castiel was confident they could come to a mutually acceptable solution. A mutually pleasurable one at that; after all, Dean wasn’t the only one who appreciated the other’s form. 

Finally darkened eyes turned to him hungrily.

“Okay. Let’s do this.” The determination was back again, Dean’s voice deep, husky and clearly not planning to take no for an answer. Castiel was curious what ‘this’ would entail. From the look of challenge that was attempting to hide tension on Dean’s face, so was he.

“This being sex? You are aware this is not a necessity?” Castiel captured Dean’s chin in his hand and tried to soothe him. Dean gave him an incredulous look.

“Man, I’ve been doing no sex with you for _years_ now. Pretty good at it. C’mon.” Dean’s hand brushed over Cas’ groin again with enough sensation that it stopped all rational thought for a good few seconds. So very, _very_ good. Dean pressed against him a little harder, eyes scanning Castiel’s nervously but with stubborn persistence. 

Was this sensible? Almost certainly not. But then sensible was not what Dean Winchester specialised in. 

It was also ridiculously tempting.

Another hard kiss left them both breathless, their bodies intertwined enough to grind beautifully against each other as Dean’s nails raked gently down Castiel’s back. 

The matter was settled.

“Do you know how you want us to do this?” Castiel breathed after another hard kiss. Dean looked at him dazed and uncomprehending. The angel hesitated, not sure how to approach the subject of who went where but suspecting straight forwardness was probably the best route to avoid unnecessary problems.

“You wish to fuck me?” Castiel hazarded a guess, and was taken aback by the sudden flush of colour to Dean’s cheeks as he suddenly understood the question.

“Oh.”

Was that a yes? Castiel didn’t know. A look of indecision crossed Dean’s face which was a surprise in itself. The angel had assumed that Dean had some very clear ideas.

“Don’t want to hurt you.” Dean said finally.

“You won’t hurt me.”

“Yeah, but I _might_. And that would be really, really bad.”

Castiel frowned at him, puzzled. There were many potential risks involved, but his own physical wellbeing was definitely low on the list short of an unexpected building explosion. Dean was looking at him in a mix of defiance and faint nervousness and Castiel slowly began to understand the stance. Ah, yes. The Convenient Excuse. Sam had mentioned something about that on another drunken evening, punctuated with a bit of arm flailing and some colourful language.

“I see. And you would prefer if I engaged with you?”

Determined nerves hesitated in the face of bizarre vocabulary. Castiel tried again.

“You’d prefer me to fuck you?”

“Cas, you gotta start talking normally. You sound like something out of Pride and Prejudice.” Dean grumbled. Cas gave a small shrug, having no idea what either pride or prejudice had to do with the conversation but felt it was probably a minor issue.

“Is that a yes?” Castiel was utterly fascinated by the prospect. Dean bit his lip and glanced at the door again, which almost certainly suggested that it was, before turning back to him again.

“You okay with that?”

“Yes.” The word was calm, simply and very much true. Castiel kissed him again lightly and smiled gently at the still flustered man. “I would be very okay with that.”

“Great.” Dean almost collapsed with relief, a happy smile beaming at him before he pounced once again; their kisses were deep, needy and hard, stolen whenever they had a spare moment. It was clear that Dean genuinely needed speed by the rough, quick touches and manner in which he ground against Castiel’s body, desperate and hungry, and more than once Castiel had been forced to capture the younger man’s hand to slow him down. 

“Dean, _breath_.” Castiel murmured in his ear. “No one is coming to interrupt us.”

Dean made a soft sulky noise that suggested that this was debatable, before his hand palmed Castiel’s groin with a firm movement that was as glorious as it was sneaky. The angel groaned deep in his throat and lifted his hand to fix Dean with a stern look. A completely unconcerned, cheeky grin met him coming the other way.

“C’mon, Cas.” Dean nipped and sucked and growled at Cas’ neck as he ground his body against him, a squirming, eager, so very hard form. “Misbehave for once.”

“I believe a fallen angel status is reasonably official when it comes to ‘misbehaving’.” Castiel pointed out sternly, and feeling Dean’s little shiver of need at the tone. “You will be good.”

“Kinda hoping neither of us are going to be good.” Dean retorted breathlessly, although his words caught in his throat as Castiel stroked him roughly, his face nuzzled in Dean’s neck as he felt the trembles of sensation work their way through his lover’s body. Dean squirmed, back arching on the bed as he panted for air, one hand clawing on the bed as though this might in some way make Castiel speed up. 

“Please,” Dean whimpered when hints were clearly not working. Castiel smiled to himself as his hand settled into a lingering movement, thumb sliding over the slick head of Dean’s cock and feeling the man jerk against him violently before Dean whined again as the rhythm began to build with a slow determination.

“Good boy,” Castiel was back to nuzzling his neck, breathing in the scents and the sensations as Dean trembled against him and feeling his own body respond just as violently. If storms could be powered by sexual need then they would have taken out mountains by now. Castiel paused to catch his own shaking breath before gently nipping Dean’s neck again gently. Dean groaned softly and let his head tip back onto the bed weakly.

“C’mon.” he mumbled. “Do it. Need you. Please.”

“In time.”

“Fuck time, _now_.” Dean complained, hips squirming against the mattress. “ _Please_.”

“Need to take time over this,” Castiel murmured, gently sucking on Dean’s neck and feeling him shudder.

“Don’t.” 

Castiel smiled to himself again. He doubted whether the man truly misunderstood the angel’s need for at least a brief delay for preparation. Even if Dean hadn’t slept with men, he was fairly certain the subject of anal sex would have come up during some of his hetrosexual encounters. Sam had always alluded to Dean’s sex life being both inventive, energetic, and probably drunken. The idea that backsides were removed from consideration seemed unlikely. 

“You need patience otherwise you will get hurt,” Castiel murmured with deliberate reproachfulness. 

“You can heal me up afterwards if something goes wrong.” Dean wriggled impatiently. The angel lifted his head incredulously.

“That is _not_ the strategy we’re going with!” the stern voice was not quite so manufactured. A lazy, cocky grin met that, Dean’s eyes closed and his breath already laboured as he tried to encourage Castiel’s hand to speed up. It failed. The angel deliberately reduced his movements, resulting in a soft pleading whimper as Dean suddenly realised the impact of his protest.

“Cas..,” His name was a broken plea. “C’mon, man! That’s not _fair_!”

“Hmph.” Castiel slowly and deliberately closed his fist a little more, feeling more than hearing the small squeak from Dean. The wriggles slowed and finally Dean waited, clearly impatient. It was just as well, his own willpower was already slipping. Castiel’s hand gently nudged the man’s legs apart, hand finally moving down to place a digit against Dean’s opening and rested it there, waiting and watching and feeling the ache deep in his body reach new depths as a look of uncertainty and desire and determination flickered across Dean’s expression like an emotional disco.

Their eyes met, Castiel’s curious and Dean’s defiant, before he slowly, slowly pressed his finger past the reluctant tight ring of muscle into the secret heat of Dean’s body. The angel couldn’t look away from Dean’s face in utter fascination as the focus left green eyes, the man biting his bottom lip subconsciously as he fought back a whimper. A beautiful sight, both powerful and vulnerable at the same point, and Castiel felt another deep throb kick him as Dean let his head tilt back.

“...fuck…,” the softest of gasps.

Dean was automatically fighting the finger’s progress but little by little the reaction died away until it was nestled and snug. The angel gently leaned forward to press a kiss against Dean’s brow, waiting for him to relax enough for it to be moved.

“That’s it,” he breathed. “Good boy. Just relax..,”

“Easy for you to say, you’re not currently a finger puppet.” Dean mumbled back, but it was a shadow of his usual sarcasm and Castiel was captivated at the change in the man’s face as the movement became bolder. Dean bit his bottom lip again like a small child desperately trying not to say a word, one hand fisted in the fabric of the bed next to him as the other badly reached for Castiel. The angel shifted his position to allow the hand to touch his skin as Dean was clearly not planning to look, and shivered as the soft fingertips brushed over his shoulder.

One plunging, twisting finger turned into two, slowly easing him open and following Dean’s verbal and physical cues on when to speed up, when to pause, when to stroke, when to play rough. Castiel doubted whether Dean even noticed himself making his little shaky gasps but the angel did and they were glorious. 

“Cas.. c’mon..,” Dean was squirming on the bed again, his hand tightening on the muscle of Castiel’s arm although this seemed to be an instinctual movement as he panted out his demands. Castiel’s willpower, already battered and bruised, stood no chance. Pausing to steal one last hungry kiss, he moved to line himself up and paused to survey the dishevelled, flustered but defiant Winchester lying beneath him.

“Cas!” Dean’s voice was a desperate sharp bark and there was absolutely no doubt that he would be using stronger language if he both dared and could remember words. He took a better grip on Dean’s hips and slowly began to press inside with torturous slowness, Dean’s noises cutting off immediately as Castiel sank deeper into him.

He was agonisingly tight. Castiel could always feel so much of Dean regardless of where he was or what he was doing, but this amplified it to such a degree that it was difficult to tell where he stopped and Dean started. Every little shudder, every beat of the heart, every breath, it was all there and so much more, and Castiel forced himself calm with all the strength he possessed.

So unbelievably good. And _his_.

The next few moments were almost a blur as their bodies began to find a rhythm, slowly at first but building strength and need with each thrust. A slow and steady rocking motion seemed to work well, every so often being punctuated by slow, hard, painfully deep thrusts that caused Dean to cry out weakly in pleasure.

“...s’good…,” the words were almost lost to the silence, Dean’s voice rough and strained. “.. don’t stop.. Please.. C’mon.. Keep going..,” 

Castiel needed no encouragement but these words were almost certainly not for either of them, instinctual ones that allowed Dean to say something, anything, as his mind focused on what was happening. Their pleasure was building with each thrust, harder, almost painful, an intense sensation and there was another soft cry as he sank into him again, over and over.

Even he couldn’t last forever. His climax was so close, tottering on the edge, and Castiel paused to take a shaky breath as he opened his eyes and surveyed Dean sprawled underneath him again. So breathtaking, Dean’s face flushed and his body shining from sweat that merely emphasised the beauty of his form, trembling from sensation and need. 

Exquisite. Castiel’s breath caught in his throat. And his trust was more so, Dean’s vulnerability offered despite the man’s initial fears.

“..Cas?” Dean’s eyes cracked open slightly in concern and confusion before he worked out what was going on. Another breathless huff of laughter. “Smell the roses some other time, okay?”

“But-,”

“ _Cas_!”

The point was taken. His hands tightened on Dean’s hips as Castiel slid into him one last time, his eyes closing briefly as he concentrated. He was rewarded by a soft, shocked yelp from Dean at the angelic stimulation deep inside him, arching his back and clenching so tightly around Castiel’s cock that the angel briefly regretted using his abilities to stimulate Dean’s prostate perfectly. Very briefly. Dean’s orgasm was hard and almost violent, back arching and muscles clamping down on him so hard that Castiel was pushed into his own climax almost immediately, shuddering his release into the still tight warmth of his lover before he slowly, slowly relaxed against Dean’s exhausted, shuddering body.

For a short time they said nothing, simply trying to regain both sanity and their breath. Castiel slowly slipped from Dean to curl up close to him, delighted as the man immediately pressed even closer with one arm sprawled over Cas’ stomach almost to ensure his position. Exhausted, sticky and still breathless, Castiel pressed a small kiss to Dean’s shoulder and rested his head against the strength of Dean’s arm as the sensations gradually began to calm.

“I didn’t know you could .. uh,” Dean kept his voice low, as though the neighbours were about to burst into the room and complain about the noise. The immediate frown cleared from Castiel’s brow as he worked out what ‘uh’ meant. Oh. Yes.

“I can heal serious injuries and adjust bodily organs. Prostate manipulation is extremely minor in comparison. I find it’s more accurate than attempting a perfect angle strike.” Castiel murmured back, faintly concerned.. “I hope I did not overstep my bounds..?”

He had assumed that pleasurable adjustments would be welcomed, but then it almost certainly was not on a human list of possible things. Dean gently smacked him on the stomach.

“Overstep your bounds, god sake Cas..,” Dean huffed a laugh and then wriggled position to kiss him. “It’s good, you idiot. It’s _really_ good. It’s just a shock. S’like getting into a swimming pool and finding a shark.”

Castiel thought about that comparison. “Are sharks in swimming pools good?” 

“Well, no, but..,” Dean hesitated, snorted laughter again and cuddled up closer so that his voice was muffled. “The angel juice thing is awesome, trust me.”

The angel smiled, wrapping his arm around him and pulling him tight. Awesome was definitely right, and not just for stolen orgasms. Lying beside Dean during the case had been both exquisite and a living nightmare, a look don’t touch torment that found vulnerable areas that Castiel had not even known he possessed. The ability to stroke him, to touch him and witness his delight was magic by itself. Sure enough, Dean gave a soft little sigh of contentment, a cat next to a warm fire on a freezing day, and nuzzled him happily. 

Silence again but this was the type that was pleasant to share, restful and comforting. He could sense Dean’s heartbeat, slowing now as he settled, and the beautiful, faintly musky scent of their activities. Castiel had many questions, but not one of them was important enough to interrupt this moment. Besides which, he was still uncertain whether he’d want to hear the answers.

“..y’kay, Cas?” Dean’s voice was low, sleepy and still muffled, the vibration of his voice a tickle on the angel’s skin. Castiel gently stroked over Dean’s back with his fingertips and enjoyed the little shiver that resulted.

“I am fine, Dean. You should get some rest though,” he said gently.

“M’good,” Dean squirmed closer and clearly fought a yawn.

“You are unconvincing.”

“I don’t care.” Definitely Dean 100% back to normal. There was another sleepy yawn and Cas stroked him again, mostly because he could. Who knew how long this would last for? He bit his lip and tried not to focus on that aspect. One evening was more than he’d ever thought was possible.

“Dean, you need sleep.” A soft voice but authoritative, the type that he’d seen Dean respond to in the past. Sure enough, Dean squirmed against him again, but in a manner that suggested that other things were on his mind other than sleep. For all his rebellious streak, Dean could be remarkably predictable.

“Are we good?” Another question, slightly quieter. 

Castiel hesitated, uncertain of the question. “Morally?” 

A soft laugh. “No, I’ve got enough to worry about without that. Us. Are we still good with each other? Relationship wise.” A pause. “No regrets?”

“Oh.” Castiel readjusted his mind to the new question, but there was little to hesitate over. “We are good, Dean. Very good.”

“Good, good.” More squirming, and Castiel was beginning to see the appeal of bondage games to keep him still. Still, the squirming seemed to be allowing him to think, and that was the main thing. And truthfully Dean could roll all over him, it was still good.

“Why do you ask?” he said finally. “Are you not good?”

“No! No,” Dean readjusted his voice to something a little less high pitched. “I just wanted to check.”

Clarification rather than assumption? Dean must be nervous. Still, it was always good to check, and Castiel managed to press another light kiss on a random part of Dean - his shoulder he thought, but there had been enough wriggling not to know what was pressed where - and make a soothing noise at the back of his throat.

“Don’t worry, everything is perfect.” Other than the parts that weren’t, but Castiel was not planning to count those as they involved the outside world rather than ‘them’. Tomorrow might be another day but for now, for them, they could not complain. Apparently that was good enough for Dean, who was relaxed enough to slowly drift into sleep.

And him? Castiel made a mental note to send Sam a text to confirm that the water, finally, was fixed.

END


End file.
